A for Anarky
by Images of Broken Light
Summary: Andrew Napier; the Joker's son. Lonnie Machin; an anarchist vigilante. Together, they've devised a plan to rid Gotham of the oppressors and the criminals who feed off it. But their stunt causes a lot of attention; much more than either of them had anticipated. And now several interested parties are watching very closely. Continuation of The Last Drag Act in Gotham
1. Breaking In

**Breaking In**

"This was a bad idea."

"Shut. Up," I pant. I risk a quick glance over my shoulder as we sprint down the street.

"But you couldn't listen to me, could you? No, Andrew's always right; Andrew's the one in charge."

"Shut your ugly face, Lonnie."

"Did you even think, just think for one second, that going back was a bad idea? I bet you didn't. You have this inane ability to not realise the possible repercussions of your actions."

We round a corner and I stop. Lonnie continues running for a few more paces before he stops and looks at me over his shoulder. I hold up my hand, one finger raised, as I drop the duffle bag on my shoulder onto the ground. "One second?" I double over and stare at the ground, my shaking hands gripping my knees as I try to regain my breath. "How?" I begin but my throat feels dry so I lick my lips and swallow. "How can you... talk so much...while running?" I ask between gasps for air. "And can you maybe... not use words I don't understand?" His scuffed sneakers make their way into my field of vision as he waits for me.

I stand up as I slowly begin to regain my breath. He looks at me with an almost disappointed expression. "You don't know what 'inane' means?"

"I'm sorry. We can't all be self-confessed geniuses." Turning around, I look out from behind the corner and down the street. "Doesn't look like they're coming after us."

"Not to mention the fact that you can't run, like, 700 feet."

I turn to glare at him over my shoulder. "It's a long way when you've just jumped out of a second story window."

"No it's not," he scoffs. "You're just pathetic."

"Fuck off." I turn back and pick up the bag. "It feels like a long way. Especially when you're carrying this bag. It's heavy. You should carry it the rest of the way back." I offer it to him and he grins.

"No." He turns and walks away from me.

"Hey," I snap, slinging the bag onto my shoulder and chasing after him. "Why not?"

"It's all your shit."

"So? I thought we were working together now."

"Doesn't mean I have to carry your shit. So suck it up, fag."

I slap him as hard as I can across the back of the head. He turns, surprise written all over his face as he looks at me. "Call me that again and I'll make you regret it." He goes to say something but I cut him off. "Don't fucking start with me, Lonnie. I won't tolerate that kind of bullshit."

"Do you mind if we talk to you boys for a minute?"

Both our heads snap up as we look to the source of the voice. A tall but kinda fat police officer walks up to us. I can't believe we didn't hear him coming. "Of course not," I angle the bag so it's sort of out of his view. "What can we do for you, officer?"

He smiles as he pulls out a notepad. "Well, if you wouldn't mind telling me your names. That would be a good start."

"Andrew Machin." Lonnie glances at me out of the corner of his eye. "He's Lonnie Napier," I add.

"Ok. So why exactly did you two jump out of a two story window?"

"We didn't want you to catch us in the Joker's apartment."

"Lonnie," I hiss.

He shrugs. "It's true."

The police officer laughs. "Who told you boys that was the Joker's apartment?"

"Please," I say, turning my deadpan expression on the cop. "It's local knowledge 'round here."

"Then why were you there? If it's the Joker's apartment, weren't you boys afraid of running into him?"

Lonnie laughs and I grin. "It was a dare and besides, he hasn't been there for ages." I shrug. "It's not like it's a big deal."

For whatever reason, the cop's still humouring us, still playing along with our little act. "So why were you dared to go into the Joker's supposed apartment?"

"Because he killed a kid in there." It's all I can do not to stare at Lonnie when he says that.

The cop laughs again, but I can tell he's stopped humouring us. "Sorry boys, but if the Joker killed someone in there, we would've heard about it."

"Doubt it," I mutter. Lonnie kicks my foot so I roll my eyes at him.

"What?" The cop's eyes narrow.

"I'm just saying. The Joker's lived there for how long and how many times have the neighbours rung to just let you know that their next door neighbour is the most wanted criminal in Gotham?"

"Andrew," Lonnie warns but the cop says nothing and I carry on anyway.

"So if there was a kid in there and the Joker _did_ kill him, it's not like the neighbours would've said anything. The poor thing could've screamed his head off or cried his eyes out but no one'd be coming to _his_ rescue, would they?"

"Go home." The cop puts away his pad and pencil. We turn to leave. "And don't go sneaking into any more apartments," he adds for good measure.

"We won't," Lonnie calls over his shoulder as we jog away from him.

I'm furious. I haven't been this angry in I don't know how long. Neither of us says anything as we make our way back to my apartment.

"Hey," Lonnie says brightly as I slam the front door behind us. "Calm down, Andrew. It worked. You were right. Switching our last names was a good idea, and he bought the whole story about it being a dare. You were prepared. It was ok."

I punch the wall. It hurts like hell but I don't regret it. "Shut up."

"Com' on," he begins but I whirl around, cutting him off.

"You don't get it," I yell. "That bastard was so smug, so superior. He was so goddamn _sure_."

"Andrew -"

"_I_ was a kid in that apartment. He did... so much to me." My voice starts to break. I throw the bag across the room. "I screamed all the time... cried for _hours_. But no one ever called the police for me. None of the neighbours cared enough for me. They shuttered their windows and locked their doors because they were afraid." I slump down against the wall as tears start to seep from the corners of my eyes. Soft footsteps make their way towards me and I instinctually flinch the way I always do after talking about my father. I open my eyes as Lonnie squats down beside me, resting a hand on my knee.

"I know you don't tell me everything. And that's cool with me. We don't know each other that well and we're just partners. But you can tell me things if you need to." I stare into his face. He's got bright red hair and these big, blue, innocent eyes that almost look out of place in a dirty, corrupt city like Gotham. A line of freckles run across his nose, making him look a lot younger than 18. "My Mom always says that sometimes you've just got to talk about things to get over them."

"Your Mom?"

He shrugs. "She's a lot better at dealing with people than I am."

"No kidding."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't get people, kid."

He stands up, his hands on his hips. "First of all; kid? You're only three years older than me; that doesn't give you superiority. Secondly, you were raised by the Joker. Just 'cause you know better than to stab people when they piss you off doesn't mean you've got good people skills either."

I can't help but smile a bit at that. "You're an asshole."

"You are too, buddy." He gives me his hand and I take it, getting up off the ground. "Now, look. I've gotta get going otherwise my Mom's gonna get worried and I'm gonna have deal with the mother of all shitstorms when I get home."

"That's fine."

He gives me a suspicious look. "Are you sure you're going to be alright? I don't just wanna walk out on you."

I force a grin. "I'll be fine. I just had to get it out of my system."

"Ok. I'll come by tomorrow and we can get to work on, you know," he makes air quotes with his fingers, "the plan."

"You're an idiot. Get out." I open the door for him and watch as he takes a few steps down the hallway. "Lonnie."

"Yeah?" He turns and smiles at me, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Thanks. I might take you up on that offer one of these days."

"'Sup to you. See ya later."

I close the door behind him and lean my head against it. Tell him things. I laugh a little at the idea. There's no point in it. No point in dwelling on the past. And he doesn't really need to know these things, does he?

Turning around, I walk over and pick up my bag, dragging it to my bedroom. Dumping it on the bed and unzipping it, I pull out a couple of wigs and a small box full of makeup. Lonnie doesn't know what's in here. I had him keep watch while I got it out of my old bedroom. He didn't need to know. He doesn't need to know that I'm gay or that I used to do a drag act before Dad started killing drag queens to get back at me. Everything he did to me, everything he said, it's better off forgotten. It's all so... complicated. And unnecessary.

I start to move the contents of the bag to my wardrobe, putting it in boxes so it's at least partially hidden. I don't see a problem in hiding from my past. Sure, there are lots of people who do, Lonnie's Mom for one. But, with all due respect, none of them had the Joker for a father.


	2. Bloodied Knuckles

**Bloodied Knuckles**

The blood on the handle soaks into my skin. Pressure on my wrist moves my hand upwards. It thrusts the knife forwards and the blade disappears into darkness. It pulls and I take my hand back. It keeps pushing and pulling, the knife blade dancing back and forward, in and out of the darkness. And then the pressure disappears. But my hand keeps moving, back and forward, in and out, propelled by its own momentum and the darkness starts to change, turning red and taking form until there's a corpse sitting in front of me. Bloodshot eyes plead to me. I look down in horror and my hand's still moving, thrusting the blade backwards and forwards, in and out of its neck. I beg my fingers to loosen their grip but the knife fuses itself to my hand, refusing to leave, burning itself into my memory. I scream but I won't wake up and somewhere behind me, Father is laughing. I spin around, searching for him and a slight, blonde girl steps out of the darkness, holding out her bloodied hand towards me. She's moving her lips but no words come out and I realise she's got no pants and her thighs are bloodied and mutilated and her fingers stretch desperately towards me as she cries. The pressure returns, pushing down on my shoulders, forcing me to stay when I want to run. She calls to me and I can hear my name so I reach out, trying to touch her, to hold her and tell her it's going to be ok when I know it's not. She falls back into the darkness and screams. The sound chills me to the core. I turn around and push against the pressure and it solidifies, taking form, turning into Him. The smell of mothballs and smoke washes over me as cold leather gloves tousle my hair. I shiver, though it's not cold and, though I'm terrified of Him, I push myself closer to Him, gripping His jacket, breathing in His scent. It smells like home and though my scars start to tingle and my heart starts to pound, an inexplicable calm flows through me. But He pushes me away, shoving a smoking gun into my trembling hands. It burns me and I drop it, staring up at Him. He grabs His chest as the blood starts to blossom through His jacket, taking slow, deliberate steps backwards into the darkness. But as He disappears, He's standing behind me again, His hands on my shoulders, His breath on my neck. "Father," I whisper and He starts to push me towards the darkness. "I don't want to do this anymore." The darkness looms closer and closer. "Please don't make me leave you, Father. I need you. You made me need you." I feel every inch of the blade as it enters my body. I scream as blood leaks from the corners of my mouth. Father laughs and moves the blade up, through my back to my neck. Tears spring to my eyes as He twists the knife viciously into my spine. I scream louder and louder until the pain becomes too much and a white, blinding light cuts across everything.

I lie flat on my bed, blinking in the sudden light. I can sense movement by the doorway, but I can't summon the energy to look.

"Andrew?" Lonnie's voice drifts across the silence of my room. "Are you awake?"

I bite my lower lip and lay my arm across my face, squeezing my eyes shut to shield them from the light. "I am now. Thanks a lot. That was a good dream"

"You were screaming." I move my arm and open my eyes. He shrugs. "I never pegged for you a masochist so I thought I should wake you."

"I wasn't screaming."

"Yeah. You were. Again." The floorboards groan as he comes over to stand next to my bed. He's got that shit-eating grin that he tends to wear when he knows he's annoying me. "Sounded like someone was stabbing you." He pauses, waiting for a response. I let the silence grow longer. "You had that dream again."

"I don't dream," I growl. "Now fuck off."

He shakes his head. "Don't try to lie to me. I'm smarter than you are. I can tell." I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit up, pushing him away. "You're having nightmares where you wake up screaming."

I stalk over to the wardrobe and grab a t-shirt, pulling it swiftly over my head. "One; fuck off. Two; I don't have nightmares. Three; fuck off." I pick up my watch and look at the time. "Come on, shithead. Get out of here. We've got things to do." I turn to look at him. "I'm going to take my pants off now." He rolls his eyes and goes to stand outside the door.

"You've got mental problems."

"Not listening." I take off my pants and swap them for clean underwear and an old pair of track pants.

"Andrew."

"What do you want me to say?" I snap in exasperation.

"I know you lie to me." I walk over to the doorway. He doesn't turn to look at me but his voice is level and he looks calm. "I'm not vain or stupid enough to think you've told me the whole truth about anything. But it doesn't matter, does it? You're stuck with me. Unless, of course, you want me to go to the cops with your real identity." He chuckles a little. I narrow my eyes as he turns to look at me. He smiles down at me. The son of a bitch is a few inches taller than me and he knows it kills me. "I know you think you're using me, but I'm using you too."

"Oh wow. The thought hadn't crossed my mind," I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "And here I was thinking that you were helping me because you were head over heels in love with me." His cheeks are a little flushed. I lean against the doorway and shrug. "I thought we established the fact that we're using each other on our first meeting. You know, three years ago when you followed me though Gotham?"

"It worked, didn't it?" He says sharply. "Or am I not standing in your apartment waiting for you to shut the fuck up so we can start working?" He leans in close, our noses almost touching. "Or are you still talking because you have this need to tell me about your nightmares?"

He's so annoying.

I push him away from me. "I don't need you. Get out of my face."

He backs off, turning away and walking across the mostly bare living room. "Is it ready?" I roll my eyes as he pushes my old sofa against the wall and perches on the arm. "It's not that I don't love spending time with you – I just assumed that we were gonna practice today."

"God, do you ever shut up?" I mutter, opening a cupboard in the living room. "I finished it last night. You need to try it on and tell me what you think, whether or not you can fight in it. And then you've got to prove that you can use it." I pull out a bundle of bright red material. The couch behind me groans and I turn to see Lonnie standing up and walking towards me.

"Bright red?" He looks at me sceptically. "Don't you think that's going to be a little, I dunno... Obvious?" I pinch the shoulders of the costume between my fingertips and let it fall, shaking it a little for effect and just because I feel like it. "It's a red dress."

One of these days, I'm going to punch him in his stupid, sarcastic face.

I throw it at him. "It's a robe. And it's not as billowy as it looks. And besides, there are pants and a shirt to go with it so it's nothing like a dress."

"How do you know the word 'billowy' and not 'inane'?"

"And here's the mask and hat. Boots and gloves are already in the bathroom." I put all my effort into ignoring him and his bitching. "Go put it on and we'll work from there."

"I'm going to look stupid," he mutters, glaring at me as he heads for the bathroom.

"You always look stupid," I snap, flopping onto the sofa. "And hurry up, will ya?" He mumbles something as he closes the door but I don't catch it and I don't care. After all, I was the one who actually sat down and made the costume while he ranted and raved about the apartment, telling me what he was going to do once he'd started capturing the imagination of Gotham.

"Well... at least it fits."

I look up as he comes out of the bathroom. It looks pretty good, even if I do say so myself. The robe hands loosely off his shoulders, held together at the front by a large golden clasp. Crimson, knee high boots disappear under the robe. He tugs at the gloves, pulling them further up his arms, and flexes the red leather experimentally. Looking to me, Lonnie shrugs.

"You forgot the mask," I point out. "And the hat."

He rolls his eyes. "Do I really need all of this? All this red is going to make me stand out like a sore thumb."

"Isn't that what you wanted?" I stand up and head towards the bathroom. "All eyes in Gotham on you, remember?" I pick the gold mask up off the sink and head back towards the living room. "You at least need the mask." He sighs in exasperation but lets me help him attach it and pull up the robe to cover his neck and the back of his head. "It'll look better with the hat on," I offer.

Lonnie doesn't say anything, but he does go back to the bathroom and pick up the wide-brimmed hat off the floor. He dips his head and looks at it, before placing it tentatively on his head and glancing up at the dirty mirror.

"I hate it when you're right."

He turns around and I smile. He looks good. Intimidating. Mysterious. Everything a vigilante needs to look. This is perfect. Only one more thing to test out.

"Will the hat stay on when -?"

I punch Lonnie in the face.

He staggers backwards, his hand flying to his mask. "What the hell?"

"Batman's not going to ask permission before he punches your nose in."

"I know, but -"

My leg flies out to kick him and, as he moves to dodge it, I punch him in the stomach. He grunts, doubling over for a moment. "Defend yourself."

Open palm to the face.

"Get your act together, kid."

He straightens up and takes on a fighting stance.

I let him punch me in the nose. But I don't move.

"You're going to have to hit me a lot harder if you want to make me stop."

He tries it again and I duck, elbowing him in the stomach. He brings his fist down on my head. It hurts. A bit. I duck and scramble out of the way. He follows me across the living room and I lunge at him, catching him off guard. He ends up on the ground with me sitting on top of him. I stare down at the perfect golden face that looks sternly back at me. His hands are gripping my t-shirt, pulling me down towards his face.

"Get. Off. Me."

I lean down close to his mask and grin. "Make me."

The silence drags on for what feels like ten minutes. Neither of us moves.

"Oh, fuck it," Lonnie sighs, releasing my shirt and letting his arms flop down to the ground. "I'm at your mercy, master."

Grinning, I get off him and help him to his feet. "You're really fucking pathetic, you know." We stand facing each other for a moment when there's a sudden movement and he knees me in the groin. I hiss in pain, going down on my knees. "Bastard," I mutter.

"I'm not above playing dirty." His hand reaches up to his hat. "Hey! It's still on." He looks down at me and shakes his head. "I don't know how you do it. Consider me impressed."

"Go fuck a blender."

Lonnie laughs.


	3. Wonderful Toys

**Wonderful Toys**

"I came up with something to help me fight," Lonnie says as he bursts into my apartment. It's late in the afternoon, so he's probably just come from school.

"A bodyguard?" I ask dryly, not looking up from my newspaper. I can hear him scoff and the couch sinks slightly as he flops down beside me.

"What a joker you are," he says and punches me on the arm. I shoot him a dark look. "Relax," he grins. "I was only clowning around."

"Asshole."

He shrugs. "Yeah, probably. Anyway, don't you want to see what I built?"

"Suppose. If I have to."

"You so do." Jumping up, Lonnie darts back over to his bag sitting by the door and pulls out a golden stick, maybe three feet long. He holds it in front of him like a sword and looks at me expectantly.

"You made a stick," I say slowly and Lonnie rolls his eyes in exasperation.

"It's not a stick, Andrew, it's..." His voice trails off as he looks from the stick in his hands to me and back again. "Do you wanna see what it does?" I nod in a non-committal way and his face lights up. "Great! Wait there, I'll just get changed." Still holding his stick, he grabs his costume out of the cupboard and runs over to the bathroom.

Sighing, I toss the newspaper to the side, stand and stretch. Truth be told, I never intended for things to turn out like this. Not really. Helping Lonnie become a vigilante just kinda happened. I just wanted to be free. I mean, I was only a kid when Dent died and Dad fucked up Gotham. And when Batman took the rap, I paid for it. I used to wait for Batman to take Dad away and free me from my hell. The Police never said anything, the media never saw him, but I did. Occasionally. Out of the corner of my eye as I peered out of windows and down streets, hoping to see him catch my father. The people like me, the ones who really needed him, they knew he was still there. But then Batman started to just not show up. He stopped coming. The last time I saw him was almost four years ago, when I told him I wanted to kill my father and he made no effort to discourage me. After that, nothing. He just disappeared completely, like he walked off the face of the earth, and after that it was like Dad stopped trying. Not that I'm complaining. I'm just worried. He's had time to think. He's dangerous when he's had time to think.

Lonnie coughs from the doorway of the bathroom and I turn to look at him. The costume does look good on him, I think. Like a comic book vigilante. And there's no way anyone's going to forget they saw him.

Swinging his stick round in front of him, Lonnie crouches slightly and beckons me forwards with a slight motion of his free hand. Rolling my eyes, I slip out of my jacket and bounce from one foot to the other, sizing up his stance. It's hard to tell what he's planning with that mask on, but I think I've got a fair idea.

I run forwards, ducking as he swings the stick at me before I land a punch on his ribs. He brings the stick down across my shoulders with a heavy crack and I duck away again, bent slightly as I watch him carefully. The impassive golden mask turns to face me and I start to regret making the thing look so damn creepy. Then Lonnie jabs the stick forwards, the tip heading straight for my stomach. Acting on instinct, my hands grab the end, holding it in place and preventing him from driving the end any further into my gut. Then his wrist moves slightly and my muscles are on fire. My entire body clamps down around the tip of the stick and I can feel myself shaking as electricity runs through my limbs. I can feel myself falling, still wrapped around the stick, dragging it down with me. I drop to my knees, the breath in my lungs coming out quickly in a horse gasp. After what seems like forever, Lonnie's wrist moves again and the pain disappears as quickly as it came. I collapse to the side and curl up in a ball.

"What do you think of my stick now?" I can hear him gloat above me, but I'm too busy trying to stop my limbs from twitching to respond. He squats down to look me in the eye and the mask is solemn and cruel and my mind races back to the last time I was curled up on the ground, pain wracking my body, and my father was there, standing over me, stroking my face and cutting my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut and tuck my head down, my chin on my chest and my arms over my head. It all happens so quickly, going through the motions like a reflex, I can't even be sure exactly why I reacted the way I did. "Andrew?" Lonnie's voice wafts through the fog of pain and fear and I pull myself back together.

"Fucker," I manage to breathe and I can hear him laugh a sigh of relief as I start to uncurl. "You fucking shitfuck."

"Yeah, I know." He takes the mask off and drops the stick on the ground, but far enough away from me to prevent me from getting any ideas. "Come on," he mutters, hooking his arms under my armpits and lifting me to my feet. "Let's get you back on the couch."

I let him half carry, half drag me back over to the couch where he drops me and heads back over to retrieve his stick. I glare at him, furious, but the way he grins back at me tells me he's too pleased with himself to take any notice of how pissed off I am.

"So, do you wanna know how I built it?" He asks, perching on the armrest of the sofa closest to my feet. I'm not saying anything. I don't want to know. I don't care. What I do care about is the fact that my only friend just tasered me. Sick freak.

"I'm really proud of it," he continues, looking down at the stick in his hands. "It's basically a hollow metal tube with a tiny taser at the end. But the end is covered up by this flap, see?" He angles the stick so that I can look at the end of it. "So when I twist the handle like this," he twists the handle, "the flap comes up and the taser gets pushed forwards so it sticks out. And because it's been pushed forwards the on button's also been pushed and so the taser's active. And, when I twist the handle back, the taser gets pulled back and the button gets released so it's not on anymore. But," he grins, twisting the handle back so the taser gets drawn back into the stick, "this is the really clever bit. Because the head of the taser sticks out far enough, the electricity doesn't get carried back up the metal tube to me. So I don't feel any of the effects and I get a heavy metal stick to hit people with." He looks down at the stick and nods to himself. "This is just the coolest thing I've ever built."

I glare at him a while longer before deciding I should attempt to say something. "You could've explained that all to me without electrocuting me first."

Lonnie shrugs. "It was really only a mild shock. You're fine."

"It really fucking hurt."

"Don't be a wuss. I'm sure you've had worse."

Sitting up, I turn my back on him. "That's not the point and you know it."

"So I wanted to finally beat you in a fight. So what?"

"You beat me at everything else, isn't that enough for you?" I stand up and shake out the crumpled newspaper I'd been lying on. "But fine. Whatever. Are you still up for tonight?" To his credit, Lonnie looks a little ashamed as he nods his head. "Good. I was thinking that hitting up the complaints in the Letters section of the newspaper was a good way to go. Y'know, it's the people's voices and stuff the police won't touch." I offer Lonnie the newspaper and he takes it, flipping through to the right page.

"I'll be a start, at least. Until I've got my name out there."

"Right. And what are you planning on calling yourself?"

"Oh, Anarky. But with a 'k'." Lonnie nods as he reads through the letters. "And the symbol's gonna be the anarchist symbol. Y'know, the 'A' in the circle? Speaking of which, you got any cans of red spray-paint? We're gonna need at least one for tonight. I mean, there's no real point in me going through and being the people's champion if no one knows it was me that did it."

"You don't ask for much, do you?" Lonnie looks up at me and I shrug. "It's fine. I know someone who'll have some they can spare at short notice. Anyway, have you picked a target?"

"Oh yeah," he grins, nodding. "We're going to The Heavy Heavy Club tonight." He hands me back the newspaper and I scan through til I find the appropriate letter. "Noise pollution, violent behaviour and the owner sells drugs to children."

I look up at Lonnie. "Ya gotta wonder how he gets away with shit like that in the new Gotham."

Lonnie smiles in a positively predatory way. "He won't be getting away with it for much longer."


	4. A Heavy Evening

**A Heavy Evening**

By the time we get over to the fashionable end of the Gotham night district, it's already getting late and I'm starting to worry we're not going to get the job done. Lonnie, on the other hand, has all the confidence in the world. He strolls along, his costume and props in the bag on his shoulder and he looks so at ease with himself and the world around him. Comes from upbringing, I suppose, but still. I'd think I should be better at planning crimes. Calmer about it, anyway.

The Heavy Heavy Club's on the fringes of the nightclub scene, hidden down a narrow street with neon lights marking the door. There isn't a line to get in; it's not that sort of a club. We don't hesitate as we approach the bouncer. He's tall and thick, like a pro wrestler in a suit, and he watches us carefully as we stroll down the street and past the door. Lonnie initially thought we should try to get in, but with finding a fake ID for him taking time we didn't have, what was the point? No, a quick bit of Google mapping instantly told us about the back door we could use, and I figure if we're lucky, not that I ever am, we mightn't have to go in at all.

"Did you see inside?" Lonnie whispers as we get to the end of the street.

I shrug. "Kinda. The ape was in the way but the place didn't look packed." I gesture to the left with a tilt of my head and we start to go round the block. "The way I figure it, if you get inside and shit goes down, there won't be too many people trying to kick your ass?"

"What, you're not coming in?"

"The first thing you learn when living with murderers is to avoid the conflict in the first place." Lonnie gives me a judgemental, somewhat disappointed look. "Hey, it's not my fight."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"In short, making sure you don't get killed."

Lonnie shakes his head. "Nah, you're up to something."

Smiling faintly, I shrug again. "Hold up a sec." Lonnie stops, looking expectantly at me. I point to a tiny alleyway, barely big enough for two people to walk down side by side. "Think this is the place?"

Taking a few steps forwards, Lonnie looks curiously into the darkness. "Suppose it could be. Only one way to find out, I guess?"

"Great," I nod, and I start to head down the alleyway when Lonnie grabs my arm.

"Dude," he says, holding up his phone. "Google."

"It'd probably be quicker to just walk down and have a look."

Lonnie scoffs as his fingers start tapping away on the phone's screen. "Or we could just Google it now so we know we're right." I sigh, loudly, and he rolls his eyes. "Relax. What've you got against a bit of field research?"

"First of all," I say, leaning against the wall, "field research usually means you're going to check out the place. By looking around. Not Googling it."

"Semantics," Lonnie says, shaking his head. "Besides, you're right, this is the place."

I sigh again, if only just to indicate my annoyance at that entire conversation. "What're you going to do if the internet goes down? What if you suddenly can't Google things whenever you want to? You need to have a bit of basic knowledge to get you though."

Lonnie gives me a playful punch on the arm as he passes me on his way into the alleyway. "That's why I keep you around. Well, that and protection."

"I'm so glad to know you value me as a human being," I mutter as I follow him into the shadows.

It doesn't take long for my eyes to adjust to the intense darkness of the alley. The entire place reeks of piss and the buildings on either side are tall and brick, and judging by the layout of the windows and the seemingly random lights, they're probably apartments. Makes sense, considering the noise complaint in the letter. Halfway down the alley there's a plain door set into the wall, with the words 'No Entry' scrawled onto it in what looks to be black paint. Casually leaning against the door, I push it slightly and it moves open a crack and light and sound pours out into the alley. Glancing over at Lonnie, I see him inhale sharply and nod his head, and I let the door shut again.

"I suppose I'm going to have to get changed here," he mutters as he moves his bag around and I can hear a zipper being pulled. "Here." I find the stick and the mask thrust into my hands as Lonnie begins to juggle his clothes and his costume. I keep a wary eye out while he changes, but the alley stays deserted, and I don't even see movements in any of the windows. There's something about tonight that strikes me as being very odd.

"Does this place seem kinda quiet to you?" I ask, staring down the alley. There's no one passing by on the street, and when I turn to look at the other end, I see the same thing. Nothing. "Seriously, there's like no one here."

Lonnie grunts and takes the mask out of my hands. "Who cares?" He shrugs and puts his hat on. "So long as the scum we're looking for is here, what does it matter if no one else is?"

"But don't you think it's..."

A noise from inside the club stops me midsentence. Grabbing his stick from my hands, Lonnie throws his bag at me and waves me away. I turn and run, heading for the fire escape stairs a little way back up the alley. As I get to the first landing, I turn and see Lonnie standing some way off, just watching the door. After a second or two, the door opens and the alley is filled with light and noise again. I press my body flat against the metal grating, doing my best to be unnoticeable. Lonnie stands tall and still, and a few more seconds pass before our target stumbles out of the club.

"Johnny Vomit."

Lonnie's voice is distorted through the mask, deep and dark and menacing. The man, dressed in black and wearing chains, lets the door snap shut as he turns to face Lonnie, letting out a hoarse cry of "Shit!" Lonnie advances on the figure, who backs away up the alley towards me. "Jeez, man," he says. "Ya really scared me."

"But you are Johnny Vomit," Lonnie says. He swings his stick as he walks and I'm just waiting for him to whip it up and zap the guy.

"Yeah, that's me. Whadda you want?"

Lonnie stops moving and I tense up. The guy is bigger than Lonnie by about a head and if he wants to start a fight, my money'd be on him. "I'm a fan," Lonnie says finally, and the guy visibly relaxes.

"Ah, right man, cool, but I've gotta get -" The guy just starts running mid-sentence. I'm ready to drop down and tackle him when Lonnie reaches him and jabs him in the small of the back with his stick. I can see the guy's entire body go rigid and his mouth's open as if he's screaming but he's not making a sound. He collapses to the ground after a second or two and Lonnie turns off the taser.

"Running was a really stupid move, Johnny." Lonnie's practically standing on top of him, the business end of the stick pointed squarely in the guy's face. "So was selling drugs to kids."

"Ya can't prove that," the guy says, but Lonnie shoves the stick closer to the guy's face and he shuts up quickly.

"It's a wonder the police haven't picked you up yet," Lonnie continues, as if he hasn't been interrupted. "But regardless, you should know better. You're a man with responsibility. Your fans, and I'm assuming you have some despite your complete lack of talent, they look up to you. They listen to you. They copy you. And you betrayed them."

"Hey, I didn't force them to do anything."

Lonnie nods. "That's true. And you have a right as an individual to do as you please. But enforcing your selfish beliefs on others? I'm afraid that's where I'm going to have to draw the line, Johnny. After all, the people have spoken."

The guy holds up his hand. "Wait, man, we can make a deal."

With a flick of his wrist, Lonnie jabs the stick into the guy's chest and he goes stiff again. He leaves it there longer this time, so when he turns off the power, I can still see the guy twitching from here. Lonnie squats in front of him. "This is your warning, Johnny," he says in a voice I can barely hear. "By dealing drugs to kids, you're trapping them in the power constructs of society. You're helping the government trap them into lives of menial servitude, and for what? Money?" Lonnie stands up. "Don't do it again, Johnny. I'll be watching you." And he lifts the stick and cracks the guy across the head with it. He goes limp and slumps against the wall, and Lonnie looks up to where I'm lying.

"Did you just kill him?" I ask, standing up.

Lonnie shakes his head. "Nah, he's still breathing. Chuck me the spray paint."

I find the can in the bag and throw it down to him, then slowly climb down the stairs. I'm not entirely sure what I think about what I just saw Lonnie do. On one hand, I do think the guys probably deserved it. On the other hand... Lonnie was scary. I mean, I know him and he's just a kid, but he just beat that guy into submission. And it's a stupid fear, but what if I've just fallen in with the old type of crowd. What if... My mind's already drawing parallels between him and Dad, I'm already wondering where this could be going. But, at the same time, this kid's in my pocket. He's on my side. And it's stupid to worry about what he'd do to me. He wouldn't do anything to me. I'm not the one he's fighting.

Lonnie tosses the spray can back to me and takes a step back to admire his work. I stand next to him and look it over. Right above the guys head Lonnie's painted a circle with an 'A' in it, the anarchist symbol he said, and next to it he's written 'sells drugs to kids'.

"Whadda you think?" Lonnie says, looking to me. I shrug and look down at the bag, taking more time than necessary to put the can away. "Come on," he urges, "tell me what you think."

"It's fine," I say quietly, and I hand him the bag. "You should get changed before someone comes."

Taking the bag, Lonnie looks at me suspiciously. "Are you alright? Andrew?"

"I'm fine," I snap. "But we need to get out of here. Don't you know anything?"

Lonnie shrugs and starts to pull of his costume as I turn to glance nervously down the alleyway. Hanging around here's just asking to get caught and part of me just feels like there must be eyes watching us. I have that uncomfortable feeling of being watched. Glancing back over my shoulder, I see that Lonnie's pretty much changed and I breathe a sigh of relief. Rationally I know that if someone's watching us, it won't be Batman or the Joker or really anyone who knows who we are, but knowing that doesn't make the feeling of unease go away. We could be locked up for what we just did. Blackmailed by some third party. And all because Lonnie had to be the people's unappointed champion out where anyone could see him. I think I'm making myself sick with worry. After all, it's all well and good to believe in something but when you start doing things that can draw the wrong kind of attention... Well, I've been there before and it's not fun. Maybe I shouldn't have let him get this far. "We've gotta get going," I hiss.

"Relax," Lonnie begins, but I cut him off with a sharp look.

"Don't tell me to relax. If the wrong people find us here we are so screwed. Come on." I turn my back on him and start walking down the alley, back the way we came. After a few seconds, Lonnie falls into step beside me. "You have no idea how dangerous this is," I whisper. I glance over at Lonnie and he gives me judgemental look. "I don't expect you to understand, I expect you to trust me. I'll explain later, when it's safer."

As we near the end of the alley the sound of dozens of police cars hits us and we both freeze. Lonnie looks terrified and I guess I must look the same. But the cars go racing past us and down the street, meeting more cars and turning to follow them towards the CBD.

After a few moments of stunned silence, Lonnie turns to look at me. He's got a manic grin on his face and he starts pulling me in the direction the police cars were heading. "Let's go check it out."

"A minute ago you were terrified they were after you."

"Well they're obviously not so let's go see who they're really after."

I give in and let him drag me down the street behind him, but as we near the corner the cars turned at, there's a sudden roar of engines and a giant black thing flies over our heads. The streets around us are deserted and we're just standing there, looking up at this impossible thing flying above Gotham. My mouth's hanging open slightly as I watch it disappear between the buildings and I know without a shadow of a doubt that Batman's back. And, if Batman's back, we might be in even more trouble than I thought.


	5. Recruitment Drive

**Recruitment Drive**

Someone's knocking at the door. It's loud and sharp and strong and it's been going on for five minutes now. Whoever it is, they should've given up by now. I'm not home, I'm not answering the door. Why won't they leave?

After another minute, the knocking stops and I sigh in relief, leaning my head back to rest against the wall. After the chaos of last night and the fear that someone saw us, I just don't want to talk to anyone right now. It's better to just pretend that I don't exist. I'll just sit on my bed and be as quiet as possible and try to forget that Batman's back and that could only mean trouble. I'm in trouble. None of this is going the way I planned. Closing my eyes, I press my hands to my forehead. And then my phone starts ringing.

I scramble across my bed to grab it and, not looking at the caller ID, I answer it, just trying to silence it in case the person at the door was still there. "Hello?" I whisper into the phone, my free hand cupped around my mouth and the receiver.

"We would be most appreciative if you would open the door, Mr Napier."

I freeze and my blood runs cold. That is not a voice I recognise. Its English is heavy and formal behind its forced politeness. "Should I even ask how you got this number?"

"It does not matter."

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that," I mutter and hang up. I take a deep breath, then get up off my bed. What else can I do? I don't know who they are and I'm not going to find out just sitting here. And I've been trained to follow orders. Besides, they know I'm in here and if I don't answer the door, they'll probably just kick it in. I don't want to have to pay for a new door.

I walk slowly over to the front door. My hands are shaking as I unlock it and open it up to reveal three men standing there, dressed casually, inconspicuous in dark greens and browns, but all holding handguns. Waiting for me. And all I can do is stare up at them and swallow nervously. "Would you like to come in?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

The man standing in front nods his head. "We'd love to," he says, and it's the same voice that was on the phone. I stand aside as they move into my apartment, stopping in the middle of the main room and turning to look at me. I sigh and close the door. It's at times like this I have to remind myself that I am the Joker's son. He's held the Mob to ransom and stopped the city dead. And he's the only one I let intimidate me. Everyone else is beneath me. So I take a breath and stand a little taller and stare the men down. I am the son of chaos. I am in charge. I just need to remind myself of that.

"What do you want?" I ask, folding my arms across my chest. The lead man cocks his head to the side and stares at me. I swallow nervously but I don't back down. Remember who you are, I think to myself. This is my home. I call the shots here. "Go on," I prompt. "Who do you work for?"

Behind me there is a knock on the door. The man in front nods and I turn to open the door and Lonnie's standing there in the hallway with two strange men on either side of him. He looks frightened and small between them and I know these men are packing heat as well. The march him in and I close the door behind them because what other choice do I have?

They march him over to stand beside me, his two guards behind us, and I watch as the leader of this group looks us over. "Retrieve your costume," he says, one hand resting on the gun at his hip. I try to keep my face expressionless, but I'm getting more and more anxious. This isn't the way this was supposed to go. I knew someone was watching us last night. Damn it, why is everything going to hell?

"What costume?" I start and one of the men behind us hits me on the back of the head with something heavy and blunt and I stumble forwards from the sheer force of the impact. Raising a shaking hand to the back of my head, I touch it gently and my hand comes away bloody. Bastards. They'll regret that.

"Your impudence will not be tolerated," the man says calmly. "Surely by now you can realise that there is nothing we cannot find out about you."

"Doubt it," I spit and out of the corner of my eye I can see Lonnie shooting me a worried look. Right now I don't know whether I should be sorry for him or angry at him but I don't like that he's here. He's holding me back. I could've done something if he weren't here to get shot. Sure, maybe I'd get shot instead, but would that really be so bad? At least it would be quick.

"It's over there," Lonnie says quietly. He starts to move towards the cupboard, then pauses, looking towards the men behind him. When they don't go to stop him, he goes over to the cupboard and opens it up. Even from this angle, I can still catch a glimpse of the red and gold of Anarky.

The man in front smiles and looks to the man on his right. "Take it."

Somewhere I can hear Lonnie shouting 'no' as I run forwards and tackle the man in front and we're on the ground. He's on his back, I'm sitting on his stomach and I'm wrestling the gun from his hands when I hear a crack and I can feel the muzzle of a gun pushed up against the back of my head. I turn my head slightly and I can see Lonnie kneeling on the ground, the guns of the other three men trained on him. His hands are behind his head and his eyes are wide and I can see just how afraid he is right now. And, in that instant, I feel sorry for him. I look back and the man on the ground is smiling and the gun on my head pushes forwards just to remind me that it's there.

"I think perhaps you have underestimated your opponent, my young friend," the man on the ground says with a smirk and I have to look away before I do something that'll get us both killed. I'm holding his gun in my hands but despite the fact that I'm obviously at their mercy, he hasn't tried to take it back off me. He wants me to give it up. I'm not going to do that.

"Get that gun off me," I say quietly. The man's expression doesn't change and the muzzle pushes a little harder against my head. Somewhere deep inside of me I can feel rage bubbling away. I can feel Dad. "Ge_t_ i_t_ _off_!" The words come out in a growl and I'm almost taken aback by how they sounded but I have to save face, have to stay in character, I want that gun gone and I want it gone now. Behind me I can hear someone gasp and I suppose it must have been Lonnie but beneath me the man looks just as confused. Perhaps he recognised that tone.

It takes a second but the pressure on the back of my head disappears and the man that was behind me steps around his fallen leader and stands where I can see him. This is progress I wasn't really expecting, but I'll take it.

"Andrew," I hear Lonnie whisper and I, well I don't know what to say. I look down at the man beneath me and I can see myself killing him. My mind can already imagine what it'd look like if I just took this gun and squeezed the trigger. The smell of his brains splattered on the floorboards drifts just on the edge of my consciousness and I'm almost there. I'm so close I imagine I can feel the splashback of blood hitting my face. Just one bad day, Dad once told me. Well, this could be my one bad day.

I stand up and look down at the man at my feet. "Who are you working for?" The man shakes his head, all traces of his smile long gone. "I said," I whisper, kneeling down until our faces are only inches apart, "who are you working for?"

"You are not what we expected," the man says. "You seem... familiar."

"Then I'm sure you've figured out why." I stop and consider him, and then I smile. "Something that never came up in your research, did it? There _are_ things you don't know about me. But I guess you've gathered that by now." Standing up, I look around at the rest of the men. "Do you know who I am? Does your master? You can't come in here and demand from us." I look down at the man on the floor who has risen up onto his elbows. "Now if you had asked instead of demanded, odds are we would have come with you." I raise the gun and point it at his head and I can tell the other men have raised their guns at me. "But you can't take what we have worked hard to create." I hit the thumb release and the magazine drops out of the gun and crashes onto the floor. Checking the safety and satisfied that the gun's now harmless, I throw it across to the far side of the room. I look up at the men still aiming at me and shrug. "Kill us. But I bet you've got orders to take us alive."

The man in charge stands up. "Well played, Mr Napier. But fundamentally useless."

I shrug. "Now you have some idea of who it is you're dealing with. And we're on the same page. We don't want to die, you don't want to shoot us. But unless you tell me who it is you're working for, I don't see how you're going to get us out of this apartment."

The man studies me for a moment. "You have heard," he says slowly, "that there is work in the sewers?"

I nod. It's common knowledge in the Narrows. "Then you can leave. We're not interested in that kind of work."

"After your actions last night, our employer would beg to differ."

Behind me, Lonnie clears his throat nervously. "You, uh, you saw that, did you?"

"We did," the man replies, but his gaze never leaves me. "We have eyes and ears all over Gotham. There is nothing we can't know."

I fold my arms across my chest. "I suppose I'll ask the obvious question. What does your employer want from us?"

"It is not my place to say. But you won't be harmed."

Lonnie comes to stand beside me. I turn my head slightly to face him and lower my gaze. "It can't hurt to just go see what he wants," he says quietly, leaning down to whisper in my ear. I nod my head slightly and he looks up at the man. "But," he says a little louder, "obviously the suit's staying here."

"You are not in the position to be making demands," the man warns and I shrug.

"Seems to me like we are in just the right position to make demands." I raise my eyes to stare evenly back at the man. "We will come with you. But the suit will not."

The man stares us down but I'm not changing our position and he knows it. Lonnie and I are in a far more powerful position than any of them were willing to admit, and I'll be damned if I don't take advantage of that. Know your enemy.

He turns and looks to the men by the cupboard and barks an order in a language that I don't understand. I can hear the men move behind us and I tense up, ready for a fight if it's coming, but I am slightly relieved. At least they've moved away from the cupboard. They've accepted they're not taking the suit. The man looks back to us. I stop thinking. I have to be ready.

"You will walk with us. Please."

Lonnie looks to me and I nod. "Sure. Just no guns."

The man gives us a smile that does not meet his eyes. "Of course."

I look to Lonnie, then turn and head for the door, holding it open for them. "After you, then." The man's eyes narrow and I can't resist a smirk. "Don't worry. We're not gonna run." I glance at Lonnie, then around the room at the men, then back to him with a slight shrug. "After all this attention, I'm curious. Who on earth would want to see us this bad?"

One by one the men leave my apartment, the last stopping only to retrieve his gun from where I had thrown it. He gives me a look as he passes me and as tempted as I am to say something, I know I'll only regret it later. I had my moment and it's over.

"Andrew," Lonnie whispers as he follows me out of the apartment and down the stairs, walking together between the five armed men. "What was all that? You've never... I've never seen you act like that before."

I don't say anything. I don't know what to say anymore. That was Dad. That's all it was. And hell, it's just proof that after all, that despite how hard I've tried, despite how much distance I've put between us, it all comes back to him. I'll always come back to him. Because I can deny it and ignore it but he's my father and there's no hope for me. Not really. Not anymore. He made sure of that a long time ago. Makes me want to kill myself.

The men lead us down the street and into an alleyway and although there are people out and about, no one really gives us that much attention. It's the Narrows. No one here cares. Everyone sticks to their own business so despite the fact that two of the men are now lifting a large manhole cover, no one's going to stop and ask what's happening or why. The man in charge ushers us forwards and I swallow nervously but I know I have to be stronger than that. I step forwards and watch him disappear into the ground and, breathing deeply, I get on my hands and knees and follow him down.

The one thing that really strikes me is the fact that, after all this time, I've never been in the Gotham sewers before. It's strange, feels like something I should've done before. It's so dark down here. My eyes are struggling to adjust but I feel hopelessly lost and surrounded. It's intimidating. Unsettling. I don't like it. I can hear my name being whispered in the darkness and I reach out and grab the front of Lonnie's shirt, dragging him closer and his face swims into view. He's pale and frightened and I almost hate myself for knowing that I must look the same. Whatever power I had in my apartment, it's long gone. I'm sure we're in danger right now and I don't know what to do anymore. Rough hands push us along in the darkness and I'm sure that I'm going to fall or run into something, but they keep pushing and I keep shuffling on because I know I don't have any other choice. Part of me wonders how they can see down here, but if they work for the man down here, I suppose they would have got use to it. I can feel Lonnie's fingers gripping my arm as he trails along behind me and even though I know Anarky was his idea, even though this is all his fault, I can't help but wonder if I should have stopped him a long time ago. But would he have forgiven me? Would we still be friends? What if all roads lead to the sewers and there's no possible way we could've prevented this? What if it's my fate to die down here?

There is a light up ahead. A light shining through a doorway. It's too bright to see inside. And I'm both drawn to and repelled by it. But the hands keep pushing and I know I have no choice but to step into the light. Lonnie lets go of my arm as we're pushed through the door and stand blinking in the light. I can hear water running and footsteps moving around us and a vague, muffled conversation and, when I open my eyes, the first thing I see is him.

He is... terrifying. Tall, bald, shirtless and muscular, built like a boxer or a wrestler, arms like hams, with a strange mask thing over his mouth and he's just staring down at us, his arms crossed and his feet planted shoulder-width apart. He is power.

"So," he says in a strange accent, maybe English? The voice is muffled and distorted by the thing on his mouth and there's no way I can tell that it's him speaking but I suppose it must be. Who else would dare to speak in his presence? "You are the young vigilantes."

I wasn't going to say anything, but the jab in the back with the butt of a gun makes me reconsider. "Yes, Sir." He turns his head slightly to focus his complete attention on me and I feel a fear I haven't felt in a very long time.

"What did you hope to achieve in policing Gotham?"

"We weren't," Lonnie begins but, as the masked man turns to look at him, his voice dies into a whimper. He swallows, then looks up at him. "I'm an anarchist," he says in a small voice. "I don't want to police Gotham, I want to destroy it."

The truth sounds stupid and small in front of him and I'm almost expecting punishment. But instead some faint emotion flicks across his eyes and something about his stance relaxes slightly. He's still intimidating as hell, but now I'm not as convinced that he's about to snap my neck.

"Tell me," he says to Lonnie, "what was it you were planning to do?"

I risk a glance at Lonnie just as he looks over at me. His mouth is slightly open and he shakes his head the tiniest bit and I wish I knew what to tell him. I don't know what he wants to hear, so I shrug and, pursing his lips, Lonnie looks back to the masked man and sighs. "I don't really have a plan," he says quietly. "I guess we were just going to start trying to teach the people to hold the guilty responsible for their crimes. To break down the symbols of oppression and teach the common people to finally be free."

The masked man looks to me, then back to Lonnie. "All by yourself?" He asks and his voice sounds, well... slightly sarcastic, if that is at all possible. But the scepticism is there. He doesn't believe us.

"It just takes a spark," Lonnie whispers. "The people want justice. They crave it, but they feel powerless to achieve it. They're just waiting for a sign."

The room around us grows very quiet, until the only thing I can hear is the roaring of the water. He's watching us carefully and his eyes are so guarded it's impossible to tell what it is he's thinking. I've become completely aware of my own breathing as I start to tune out the sound of the water and everything becomes silence. And then he speaks.

"There will come a time when the wealthy and the corrupt of Gotham will be held accountable. And the time is coming, young vigilantes. When it does, I trust you will do what is necessary."


	6. And The World Blows Up

**And The World Blows Up**

It's been a few days since the men took us down into the sewers. Almost a week and still nothing's happened. No one's turned up to make sure we keep our word, Batman hasn't showed up at my door looking for answers, the sign the masked man talked about hasn't happened. At the risk of entering into cliché, it's too quiet. I'm not complaining. Really, I'm not. It's a nice surprise to wake up each morning and find I'm still alive and free. Maybe it's a condition of my childhood that I'm constantly expecting punishment, I don't know. But it seems strange that nothing's happened yet.

Lonnie's been out every night since that meeting, knocking off some of the larger complains in the letters section of the paper, spreading his anarchist message as best he can. He's sort of made a name for himself, even got a couple of little articles in some of the smaller papers. Nothing huge but, then again, nothing's happened. He can't do anything other than what he's already doing. He needs further orders. He wants them. It doesn't sit right with me. I was never really on his side when it came to politics, but that didn't seem to matter when we were only talking about small things. But now that masked man's come in with his armed thugs and he's talking anarchy and chaos on a level my Dad never dreamed of. And I'm afraid. Any sane person would be. And there's Lonnie in the alleys, wearing the damn costume I made him, and he's excited. He wants the masked man to succeed. He wants to prove to people, to me, that anarchy has a place in Gotham. And I hate it more than I can say. I... I miss the status quo. I miss when you could predict how things would happen. I miss Batman, I miss the Mob, I miss understanding exactly how things were happening and why. Gotham's going to hell and I'm not sure there's any way to stop it.

I'm sitting alone on the rooftop of my apartment building, over on the ledge that looks out at Arkham Asylum. Everything that led to this point in my life started on this roof. Dad tried to kill me here. I made a deal with Batman here. I put my own needs over the needs of my best friend here. I hate this place. But it's the only place I know I can come to think. And I really need to think. Whatever it is the masked man is planning, I don't think I want in. I'm not a murderer. I don't want to change Gotham. I just want to be left alone. I want my privacy and my freedom. But Lonnie's pledged my help to the masked man and I bet he's a man who takes promises seriously. So, the way I see it, I have two choices. I can roll over and help Lonnie help the masked man. Or I can find Dad and crawl back to him with my tail between my legs. Neither option particularly appeals to me, but I don't think I can survive out on my own in this New Gotham Lonnie's been talking about. It would only be a matter of time before the masked man's men find me. And then what would happen to me?

There's a squeak of rusted hinges behind me. I look over my shoulder and Lonnie's standing in the door that leads down to the apartments below. I turn away and hug my knees closer to my chest. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll lose my balance and fall to my death and we won't have to have this conversation.

"Andrew."

Lonnie's voice is close, just beyond my left shoulder. I could turn to look, but I won't. "Why are you here?" I ask quietly. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Lonnie come to stand beside me. "I don't know what I'm going to do. You can leave."

"That's not why I'm here. Bane contacted me. That's what his men call him," he adds when I don't say anything. "Today's the day."

"What did he want?"

"Nothing much. Just told me where he'd be. And where I shouldn't be. The area around Arkham was safe, and he's supposed to be coming here sometime soon, so I figured..." His voice trails off and I turn my head slightly to look at him. He gives me a sad sort of smile and shrugs. "Look, I know you don't care about politics or anything, but I-"

"I'm probably going to die because of your damn politics." Lonnie swallows nervously and looks down at the ledge. "It's alright," I say roughly. "I've got used to the idea."

"I won't let them kill you, y'know."

I laugh and I hate the way my voice sounds. "I don't really think you'll have much of a say in the matter."

"I could. I'm becoming more important every day."

I turn and look back to the walls of Arkham. "From what you've taught me, the anarchist state means I won't be protected based on who I know. I'll pay for my crimes under the past regime just like everybody else."

"But you're a nobody. You don't mean anything; you haven't done anything to keep Gotham corrupt and poor. You're inherently safe."

Pursing my lips, I look back to Lonnie. "Then why do I feel so afraid? What they're planning, it's insane. It's going to destroy Gotham."

"It's no worse than what the Joker was trying to do."

I shake my head. "No, that's different. It's completely different."

Lonnie tilts his head slightly to the side, looking confused. "It's the same. It's exactly the same thing. Can't you see that?"

Before either of us can say anything, an explosion rocks the building and I almost fall off the ledge. Grabbing Lonnie by the shirt, I pull myself back onto the roof as another explosion goes off, this one further away. Their air is full of dust and rubble, but in the distance I can hear more explosions and see more mushroom clouds of debris filling the air. I look up to Lonnie, expecting to see his panicked face, but he's expressionless and that scares me more than the explosions ever could. A week ago, this kid would've been terrified out of his skull. But now, nothing. Something's changed in him.

"He's at the Rogues game now," he says in a whisper as I let go of his shirt and take a step back to lean against the ledge. Looking down at his watch, he looks like he's concentrating for a moment, then looks back up at me. "From there he's going to Blackgate, and then he's coming here."

"Why's he coming to Arkham?" I ask the question even though I'm sure I know the answer. There's only one reason he'd come here after that.

Lonnie smiles. "That was the sign he was talking about. Gotham is the people's city now. Bane's going to release the people wrongfully imprisoned by the corrupt government."

I turn away and glare at the walls of Arkham. This is insane. He's an idealistic revolutionary; he doesn't understand the true cost of his precious revolution. Those men are going to free evil people and thousands of innocents are going to die because of it. And I could try to warn him but he'd just tell me I didn't understand. That great social change requires sacrifice. I've heard it all before.

But I'm not going anywhere. I hate what they're doing, I hate this whole damn thing, but I need to know my enemy before I retreat. So I stand in silence on the roof with Lonnie, just waiting for the masked man to show. It takes an hour for a small group to arrive at the main gates of Arkham. The group grows steadily and another hour passes before a strange tank thing, painted brown and sandy yellow, rolls up in front of the gates. The top of the vehicle rolls back and the masked man, Bane, rises up to address the crowd. It's hard to hear his voice from here, but there's talk of justice and freedom and anarchy and then he leaves the vehicle and the top goes back down and turrets on the vehicle swivel and it fires, the gates of Arkham blasting open from the impact. The tank rolls into the grounds and the crowd follows it in. I look up and Lonnie's gone, running down the fire escape stairs on the side of the building. It's not long before I see him joining the crowd swarming Arkham and it's all I can do not to cry out in frustration.

There are more explosions in the distance now. They'd stopped after the initial few a couple of hours back, but I guess they've found more things they want to blow up. I sink to my knees and rest my arms on the ledge. Everything's gone to hell, just like I thought it would. I can hear alarms coming from Arkham and there's gunfire in there now as well and I don't know whether I should be afraid or not. I don't know who's in there. I don't know if Dad's going to walk out through those gates. And, what makes it worse, I don't know how I'd react if I did see him. I mean, this morning I was almost ready to go find him and beg him to protect me from Bane, but now just the thought of seeing him is making me sick. I think it's cause I know I have to find him. I can't help Lonnie. I know that. I don't have the stomach to do what they think is necessary. But I am weak enough to go back on my word. I can crawl back to Dad and take whatever punishment he deems necessary. I am strong enough for that.

So I get to my feet and walk back to my apartment. The alarms have stopped ringing in Arkham. I doubt I have much time, but I don't rush. I don't need to. I head straight to my wardrobe and retrieve my duffel bag, then to the lounge room to move the couch and pry up the loose floorboards. Then it's just filling the bag with the money Dad stole from the Mob and I stole from him. Maybe it won't be good for much in the coming days, but I'd much rather I had my hands on it than Bane and his men. When this all blows over, and I have to believe it will blow over, I'll need money.

There's gunfire on the streets and footsteps in the landing. I decide to leave the floorboards and couch as they are and run back up the stairs to the roof. People are swarming out of Arkham and I know I don't want to risk the streets but the only other option is... I head over to the other side of the roof. The gap between the buildings doesn't look that wide. I stand up on the ledge and throw the bag across the gap. Now I have no choice. I breathe in deeply, swing my arms back and jump and I hit the ledge on the other side with a thud that knocks the wind out of me. My arms are hooked over the top as my feet scramble to find grip on the brickwork but there isn't any. I'm taking quick, shallow breaths and my arms are trembling as I start to pull myself up and it feels like any second I'm about to fall, like my arms will just give way and I'll just drop to my death, but I'm doing it. I'm getting there. A few more seconds and I can swing my leg over the ledge and I'm safe, straddling the brickwork and looking across the gap that seemed a lot smaller from the other side. I take a moment to catch my breath and calm my nerves, then I pick up the bag and run across the roof to the next building and this time I don't wait, I get up on the ledge and jump and this time I have enough momentum behind me to clear the gap completely, although I do end up falling really heavily onto the roof instead of landing gracefully but I'm not dead so it's still a victory. And anyway, this roof has a set of fire escape stairs that lead down to the alley between the next set of buildings, so I'm getting down here.

Back on the ground it's sort of easy to blend into the crowd swarming the streets. No one's really looking twice at anyone and by now I'm far enough away from the Asylum to avoid Bane or Lonnie or any of the other men. These are just... ordinary people and the insane.

I cross the street and head into the old apartment building where I used to live. I never thought I'd be coming back here so soon, but I don't know where else I should start my search for Dad. Besides, if he was just busted out of Arkham, this is where he would go first. That's why he bought the place. I head up the stairs and across the landing, over to the door of the apartment. The door's slightly ajar, but that could be nothing. I'm not sure if Lonnie and I closed it properly that night. I push the door open and head into the apartment, careful to close it quietly behind me. The floorboards creak as I move further into the room. The doors to my room and the bathroom are open, as they should be. I know I left all three doors open, but the door to Dad's room is closed. Dread sets into the pit of my stomach as I move towards the closed door and raise my hand to knock.

The door opens.


	7. Felt Like a Kiss

**Felt Like a Kiss**

"Hello son."

I should say something. He's looking down at me like he expects me to say something. I open my mouth and I want to speak but the only sound I can make is a slight whimpering noise. Who am I kidding? I'm too terrified to say anything. After all this time, I thought I was ready. Dad purses his lips and narrows his eyes and reaches out to grip my shoulder. His touch is gentle but I flinch anyway; I remember how quickly it can change. I find the words. "H-hi Dad." His grip tightens a little, but it's not painful yet. He turns slightly and pulls me closer, into his room. I let him direct my movements, as he closes the door behind me then walks me over to his bed, pushing me down onto the mattress and going over to stand by the window. I let the bag fall from my shoulder onto the floor as I draw my knees up to my chest and I watch him stare out the window. His greasepaint is fresh, his hair recently dyed and still slightly wet; it's dripping a little onto the collar of his shirt. He hasn't been back here long. I risk a glance to my right and I can see a crumpled orange pile in the middle of the room and that's got to be the Arkham jumpsuit. So I decide to ask.

"Did they break you out, Dad?"

He turns to me, his eyes narrowed and his upper lip curled in an expression of disgust. "I broke my_self_ ou_t_," he says.

"I just thought," I whisper, and he cuts me off.

"Don't think. Talk." He turns back to the window and knocks his knuckles against the glass. "Who are you hiding from, Andrew?"

"No one."

He rolls his head to look at me and smiles and I feel sick to my stomach. "You are a _terrible_ lia_r_," he says, rolling the r through gritted, smiling teeth. "I though_t_ I taught you better." His voice has turned soft and slow and menacing. It's the voice he used to use whenever he punished me as a kid. I drop my gaze and stare intently at my knees as I start to tremble. I shouldn't be this scared of him. Not when remembering him gave me strength. "Stand up," he says, so I let my legs down and I stand. "Come here," he says, so I walk over to where he's standing and I wait for him to punish me because that's what he's going to do. That's what he always does.

I lift my eyes to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry," I say, like it matters at all. Dad sucks his teeth with a pop and slings an arm around my shoulders, leaning down to look me in the eye. I can feel my heart racing and it almost hurts. "I'm sorry I left," I whisper and he raises his eyebrows, making the dark circles around his eyes grow bigger. "I shouldn't have done it. I should've stayed." My voice starts to crack and I can feel the pinprick of tears just behind my eyes. "You were right. I need you, Dad." And he smiles at me. His hand moves to the back of my neck, his fingers digging into my skin as he pulls me close and wraps his other arm around my back. I press my cheek against his shirt and I can smell him; gunpowder and smoke and mothballs and that old soap in the bathroom that never seemed to get any smaller. And even though my heart's racing and I'm torn between terror and depression, it comforts me. His hand moves up into my hair and alternates between pulling and stroking and although it hurts, it also feels good. It feels like he cares.

"Tell me what you're afraid of," he says and I know it's a trap. He never cared before. He doesn't care now. But I want him to. I want him to care so much.

"The masked man. Bane. I've disobeyed him. I saw too much. He's going to kill me."

He lets go of me and holds me at arm's length, his head cocked to the side as he considers me. "And I _won't_?"

I shrug. "I don't know. You could. But you haven't yet." He rolls his tongue across his bottom lip and I swallow nervously. "I can be useful. I can do things, get things for you."

"And you want me to _protect_ you?"

"Yes. Please."

He lets go of my arm and pulls his hand back and slaps me hard across the face. I gasp softly and shut my eyes and try not to move. After a moment he slaps me again and I can taste blood. He grabs my jaw and I open my eyes and his face is only inches from mine. "You don't," he says slowly, "get to ask me for things."

"Yes, Father," I whisper and he lets go of my jaw to pat my cheek. His touch is soft and deliberate.

"You'll come with me because it amuses me, no_t_ because I _owe_ you anything."

"I didn't think," I begin, but he silences me with a look.

Outside it sounds like the crowd's starting to riot. Dad stands up straighter and peers out through the window. "Do you _remember_," he says without looking at me, "what it was I said to you the day you walked away?" I don't say anything, and he lets go of my jaw and stalks away across the room. I turn and watch him open his wardrobe and put his jacket on. He takes out his purple coat, shakes it and puts it on, then he turns and starts to wander the room, choosing knives from the ones he's stuck in the walls and piled on the furniture. He takes his time, picking up each knife carefully, examining it, then sliding it into one of his pockets, in the trench coat, the jacket, the vest, the pants; a different knife for every pocket. I stand at the window and watch him because I don't know what else to do. He stands at the door and looks back at me, then looks to the bed. "Bring me the gloves."

I spin round and reach for the purple gloves on the bed and I have to stop myself from running across the room to deliver them to him. Instead, I force myself to take calm, measured steps towards him. As I get closer, I hold the gloves out for him to take and he snatches them from me, pulling his hands into the leather. My eyes go from his hands to his face and I can remember what he told me. "You said you'd protect me."

"Wha_t_?"

He doesn't look at me but it doesn't matter. "You said you'd protect me if I joined you." Dad's head is lowered, but he raises his eyes to look at me. My hands are trembling, so I shove them into the pockets of my jacket, my fingers instinctually curling around the handle of the knife I keep in there. The knife I stole from here years ago. "Well I'm here. I want to join you." I take a deep breath. "Seriously. Whatever it takes, I'll do it. I can do it, Dad. I want to. I just need you to protect me. Like you promised."

"You're playing a _dangerous_ game here, boy." His hands drop into his pockets and my gut clenches in fear and I want to run screaming into the streets but I stand my ground. "I thought we agreed. I don'_t_ owe you _anything_."

"You promised," I say stubbornly. "Or are you _not_ a man of your word?" The phrase comes out in a growl, just like I saw him do it on that video. I didn't know my voice could do that. In an instant he reaches out and grabs my shirt, tugging me forwards until I'm pressing against him and he's towering over me. The air rushes out of my lungs and my heart starts to pound and as he draws a switchblade from his pocket I begin to lose the will to breathe. All I can hear is the pounding of my heart in my ears as he draws the blade closer until it's resting on my lip and all I can see is the hatred in his eyes. "It's no use." My voice is soft and part of me isn't even sure he's listening at all, but I suppose it doesn't matter. There's no reasoning with him but it's the only thing I can do. "I saw the videos. News reports. Documentaries. They're fascinated with you." The tip of the blade begins to press into my lip and it stings as it draws blood, but it's my cross to bear. "You'll never die. They'll never forget what you did and it doesn't matter if some masked man turns up years later, this is still your city and if you don't want me to die, then there's no way he'd be able to kill me." Dad's eyes narrow and he draws the blade down my chin and my eyes fill with tears but I will not cry out. "I figured it out," I mumble as the blood runs down my neck. "It was always about power and control. Well I won't do anything you don't want me to do. Whatever it is you want, I'll do it, no questions asked. I just want to live. I don't care about the cost. Because you're right. You're always right."

Dad positions the tip of the blade at the base of my throat and I can feel it cut as I start to take short shallow breaths and slowly his mask of hatred begins to fade and he starts to laugh. His mouth is red and wide and gaping and his teeth yellow and stained as he laughs in my face, then tilts his head back and roars at the ceiling. His hands are shaking and my throat is getting nicked by the blade but it doesn't hurt anymore. I shift backwards slightly and he doesn't seem to notice, he's so caught up in the laughter and part of me thinks that maybe I could retreat when his hand lets go of my shirt and leaps up to grab my jaw as his head snaps back and his face is back, only inches away from mine. He stops laughing with a soft sigh and smiles at me. "Did I ever tell you how I got these scars?" My face falls and he starts to laugh again. "A story for another time," he says as he drops the knife back into his pocket and wraps his arm firmly around my shoulders. "I think we're going to have a _good_ time." I nod meekly and he pats my chest with his free hand. Letting go of me, he turns and opens the door and leaves the room. I glance back at my bag at the foot of his bed, but the sound of his receding footsteps on the floorboards forces me to abandon it. No one'll come in here. It'll be safe.

I leave the room and Dad's standing by the front door, his back to me. He doesn't look at me as I approach, just waves me away and says "Get rid of the blood." I nod, even though he's not looking, and head into the bathroom. Turning on the light, I grip the sink and stare at my reflection in the dirty mirror. And to think I looked fine this morning. My brown hair's matted and twisted, sticking up in places with spots of greasepaint thanks to Dad's dirty fingers, my face is pale, my left cheek is still red from where he slapped me and blood is oozing from the cut running down my chin. I tilt my head back and stand on my toes and I can see dozens of drops of blood on my neck, all bubbling out from where Dad got me with the knife. There's just so much bleeding and I don't even know how to stop it. But Dad's waiting and I told him... I lean over and grab some toilet paper and run it over my chin and neck. Now the blood's smeared all over my neck. I throw the bloody paper over my shoulder and reach for more and as I stand there's a creak of old wood and I turn to see Dad standing in the doorway watching me. He doesn't move so I take the handful of toilet paper and press it to my chin. I keep it there for a moment while I turn on the tap, and when I take it away it sort of looks like it's stopped bleeding. I dunk the toilet paper under the running water and bring it back up to my neck, wiping away the smeared blood. All the while I can feel Dad's eyes on me as I work, so even though I'm still bleeding a bit, I figure that most of the blood's gone so he should be happy. I drop the toilet paper in the sink, turn off the tap and turn to face him. He looks me up and down, then gestures to the front room with a tilt of his head and I hurry to shuffle past him and wait at the door. He sweeps past seconds later and, throwing open the door, strides out of the apartment. I only hesitate for a moment before I follow him, quietly closing the door behind me.

Dad doesn't wait for me; he's already halfway down the stairs and walking quickly. And somewhere in the back of my mind, a very small voice whispers that I don't have to follow. A very small part of me is urging me to choose freedom. And that's the hardest part. Knowing that I do have a choice. I rush forwards to keep up with Dad and the little voice starts screaming. I'm at war with myself. If I just leave now I can save myself months, maybe years of torture. But Bane will find me. I've done too much, seen too much for him to just let me walk away from this. And that's why I'll stay. Because Dad won't kill me. I think maybe he must love me, deep down. I hope he does. But after everything I did, everything I said, he didn't kill me the second I walked back through that door and that has to mean something. So I choose life. As terrible as life may be, I choose it.

I follow Dad as he strides through the streets. No one troubles him, although everyone stops to stare and he either doesn't notice the attention, or doesn't care. Around him, Gotham is gripped in an absolute panic. We walk through fights and fires and riots and there's absolutely no authority figures anywhere. I don't think I could find a cop if I wanted to. Some streets are filled with rubble from where the bombs went off and others have just been destroyed by the people as they panic and attack each other. Dad's talking to himself, muttering something that I can't hear, but I'm not really listening anyway. We've made our way through to one of the wealthier parts of Gotham and there are people screaming all around us. The anarchy Lonnie wanted to spread seems to have taken root here. Possessions are being thrown out of windows and people, ordinary people, are battering down doors and dragging the rich out onto the streets. And Dad strolls through the centre of the madness like he understands it. I suppose he does, even if it's not his madness.

I can't help but think that Dad's Gotham would have been... neater, I suppose? It would've at least been a madness that I could understand. Everything that's going on around me just seems so pointless, like the city's diseased and it's slowly beginning to tear itself apart. The people are turning on each other like animals and the explosions from the harbor make me assume that Bane's turned the city into a prison. Arkham Asylum's been poured out onto the streets and now it's just a waiting game to see who's going in for the kill first. So maybe attaching to Dad was a better idea than I thought and God, I hate myself for thinking that.

Dad veers off into an alleyway and I jog a little to catch up, just to make sure I don't lose him in the crowd, but the alley is completely deserted. He stops at a large metal door halfway down the alley and glances back at me, one eyebrow raised. Part of me thinks I should say something, but I know what a stupid idea that is so I shut up and wait for him to tell me what to do. After a moment, Dad turns back to the door and knocks on it, and it only takes a few seconds for it to open. He looks back at me and steps inside and I hurry to follow him in.

The space is dark, lit only by a dull light bulb hanging from the ceiling and when the door is shut behind is, it just gets even darker and I start to feel very afraid. Riots are one thing, but this? This is something else. After all, what am I supposed to expect in here? I can't see anything and I obviously can't do anything. I'm so worried I feel like I'm going to be sick.

I follow Dad through the darkness and into another room that's better lit. When my eyes adjust to the light I sneak a glance around while he's still ignoring me. There's a table and chairs, a couple of dozen oil drums, a wall of guns and knives and Harley Quinn running over to greet Dad. I turn away. I don't need to see that.

When I look back they're both looking at me. Harley hasn't changed over the years; red tank top, blue jeans, black boots, long blonde hair and she's looking at me with an expression of pure hatred that I wish I could say I had the courage to return. She's clinging to Dad, like she hasn't seen him in months or something, but he looks largely indifferent. He's turned to face me and his arms are crossed across his chest, an eyebrow raised and his mouth twisted into a smirk. I don't know what to do with myself so I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and try not to tremble. It's too late to back out now but I feel like I might have made a terrible choice coming here.

Dad tilts his head slightly, gesturing towards the table. I hesitate, then move slowly towards it, waiting for him to tell me I'm doing the wrong thing but the reprimand never comes. As I get nearer to the table, I end up turning my back to him until I'm standing with my fingertips brushing the wooden surface and I can hear him moving up behind me but I'm too afraid to turn and look at him. His gloves touch the back of my neck and I tremble and behind me there's a soft sound and I'm sure it's the sound of him smiling. Rough hands grip my shoulders and force me to turn and I'm staring up at him as he pushes me down onto the table and someone's behind me, pulling me down until I'm lying on the table, staring up at Dad as Harley pins my shoulders, as he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a knife, and shrugs off his coat, letting it fall to the floor. As he stands over me, he smiles and runs his gloved hand down my cheek. "You said you were _serious_," he says and I nod once before I realise the implications of my own words and I freeze in horror. He lowers his head, still smiling as the breath catches in my throat and I try to find the words to plead and beg but they just don't come. His hand grabs my jaw in a grip that actually hurts and my breath starts to come faster and faster as my heart starts to race and my hands grab at his sleeve but I know I can't shake him and I know this is my fault. He leans down close, his face beside mine, his mouth near my ear, and he whispers "This is going to hurt, son." I whimper in fear because it's all I have left and he leans on my chest and angles my head and the blade comes into my mouth and rests on my lower lip and even though I want to, I can't close my mouth. I can't stop him. He brings the blade across to the left corner and pushes the skin until it breaks and I can taste the few drops of blood that seep out. And all the while he stares into my eyes and I meet his gaze. Time seems to slow down as I watch his smile grow larger and the blade rips through my skin, my lip, my cheek and the blood starts to flow and my hands start to shake as they grip his sleeve and Dad starts to laugh and I close my eyes and I scream.


	8. Dead Inside

**Dead Inside**

I open my eyes and I'm outside. The last thing I remember is the pain, but then nothing. I try to move my mouth, to call out for help, but the pain is worse than I ever thought pain could be. A shiver runs through my body so I close my eyes and curl into the foetal position, wrapping my arms around my bare stomach.

My eyes snap open and I sit up. Blood loss makes my head spin but I can see clear as day that I'm sitting in a gutter, butt naked and covered in blood. Probably my own. The sudden exertion gets to me and I slump, turning my head to retch on the road. I fall back to the ground, completely spent and my mouth on fire, and I watch the chaos around me through glazed eyes. It's getting dark and despite the anarchy gripping the city, or maybe perhaps because of it, no one stops to help me. The street just keeps getting darker and darker as I'm getting colder and colder and the crowd around me continues to riot and I start to give up hope of ever moving again when two gentle hands brush my shoulders and a soft voice whispers my name. A red hand creeps into my sight and presses against my chest, rolling me over onto my back and I groan and look up at the expressionless golden face that I created. I can hear Lonnie gasp as he catches sight of my face, but I've gone beyond caring. I just want the pain to stop.

"What did you do?" Lonnie mutters as he takes off the robe of his costume and lays it over me. The material is warm and I can feel the heat begin to seep into my limbs. "Can you sit up?" He whispers, moving a hand to support my neck. I don't consider the question; I know I can't sit up and I slowly shake my head. "Sure you can, ya big liar," Lonnie scoffs, and he moves his arm beneath my shoulders and begins to lift me. "We're gonna go slow, alright? I'm not gonna make you do anything you can't, so don't be a baby about it, okay?" I try to smile, to reassure him, but I can't move my mouth.

Lonnie begins to lift me, wrapping the robe around my back as he does so. My head hangs forwards, too heavy and sore to lift, and he raises me into a sitting position, letting me lean on him as he adjusts the robe around me. It's not that cold out, but I shiver anyway and as he rubs my back, I try to murmur my thanks but I can't find the words. Behind me, Lonnie seems to stand, hooking his arms underneath my armpits. "You're going to stand now," he says, his voice right near my ear. "I'm here and I'm gonna lift you, but you've gotta promise me you're gonna get your legs up."

"Can't," I breathe softly and I can hear Lonnie laugh in relief.

"Stop being lazy and get your feet out." His voice is so much calmer than it was only seconds ago. My head's still spinning as he starts to lift me up and all I want to do is collapse back down onto the ground and die there but I know I can stand. He needs me to stand. I plant my feet on the ground and as Lonnie lifts me higher, I allow them to take my weight. I'm shaking and unsteady but I'm up and Lonnie's holding me tight. "Lean on me," he says, and I allow myself to slouch against his shoulder as he supports my upper body with a tight arm around my waist. I clutch the robe and I let Lonnie direct me off the road and he's muttering about getting me to a hospital when I stop walking. "Andrew," he says quietly. "What's wrong?"

"No hospital," I say, barely moving my lips.

"Buddy, you have to go to a hospital. I don't know how much blood you've lost, you're freezing, and well, your face..."

I shake my head. "No. Go to Joe."

"Who's Joe?"

"Friend. He'll help."

"Andrew, I can't just-"

"Joe will help," I insist, and my breathing becomes more laboured at the effort.

"Alright, alright," Lonnie says, pressing his spare hand to my chest. "We'll go see Joe, see what he has to say."

"Old Gotham. The Mean Mother."

Lonnie sighs loudly. "That's across the river. It'll take ages."

A shiver wracks my body and I shake my head. "Go down the road. Cross the bridge to the Narrows at the point, then cross the connecting bridge to old Gotham." I manage to speak without moving my lips much at all, but my face still aches and any movement, no matter how necessary or involuntary, sends spasms of pain through my head. I feel like I should be dead.

"You know where you are?" Lonnie asks and I shrug. It's Gotham; of course I know where I am. Not that I can explain that to him right now. "I guess I've got no choice but to trust you. But it's not like it's a bad decision, is it?" Lonnie gives me a forced laugh and begins to help me walk down the street. I feel like there's so much I have to say to him right now, but I can't bring myself to explain myself; it all hurts too much.

We move slowly because I can barely manage more than a slow shuffle, but at least we're moving. The people on the street don't bother us, maybe because of how insane the city's suddenly gotten, but I'm sure it's mostly cause Lonnie's still wearing his costume and I'm naked under this robe and still covered in blood. Even with the lunatics of Arkham running around, I can't say I blame people for wanting to avoid us.

I don't know how long it takes for us to cross over into old Gotham, maybe an hour or two, but the riots have only intensified and I feel weaker and more out of it than when I first woke up. My head is swimming in fog and if it weren't for Lonnie's arm around my waist, I'm sure I would've collapsed long ago. But we're almost there. I can see the familiar door, painted green to stand out, and just as I catch sight of it, a wave of guilt washes over me and I stumble slightly. Lonnie catches me, helps me stay on my feet, but he doesn't say anything and I think by now he doesn't expect me to either. It's just that... It only just occurred to me how terrible I am for forcing Lonnie to bring me here like this, when it's been so long. After what I did.

"The green door," I murmur and Lonnie stoops slightly, turning his head to look me in the eye.

"You look really pale."

"Blood loss. Cold."

"Do you feel like you're gonna faint?"

I shrug slightly, shiver and stare at the green door. I should knock, but I won't. Gotham's gone to hell; The Mean Mother will be closed, but not sleeping. "Can you open the door?" As much as I hate that it's come to this, I'm starting to accept the pain. Sure, it still hurts every time I move my face, but the pain does something. It focuses my mind, so that I can feel sick and cold and I can hurt like never before but, at the same time, I've never felt more alive. I can't open doors or walk by myself but I can think so clearly right now. Every sense I have is heightened. Everything makes sense.

Lonnie reaches out and grabs the door handle, then looks to me. I try my best to look alright but I don't know if he believes it; the mask gives nothing away. He pushes the door open and we shuffle into the darkened room and I can just hear footsteps over my heavy breathing. Then, somewhere off to the right, over where the bar is, there's the distinct sound of a shotgun being cocked for effect. I can feel Lonnie's fingers tighten.

This is going to hurt. "It's me, Joe," I call out, and every syllable sets my mouth on fire, the pain flowing from my lips and into my head. I hold it in for a few seconds, but the pain is too much and I double over, moaning loudly and holding my hands like claws in front of my face. A light switch is flicked and the brightness assaults my eyes and that's all I can take. Everything I've been holding in, the anguish, the fear, the unimaginable pain, it all bubbles to the surface and I can't breathe. My breath starts coming in short gasps and I can feel my eyes burning with tears and I start to shake. There are hands on my back, guiding me somewhere, but I can only focus on my hands, strained and ready to claw at my own face. It's all I can see as the pain grows and grows until tears are flowing down my cheeks, making the pain worse, and suddenly I can't move anymore. My chest is tight and no matter how much I strain, I can't draw the breath I need to calm myself down. I know I need to calm down, to focus on something and harness the power of the pain but I can't do it. It's searing, white hot, and I can't control it anymore, but somehow I find the breath and I can whimper.

"Andy." I can hear Joe's voice but it sounds so distant, like I'm listening to him talk through glass. I move my hands up into my hair and grip my head, then squat down and curl into a ball, my elbows on my knees as I stare at the ground and hyperventilate. I thought I was ok, I thought I was focused but I'm not, I'm a mess. How could I even think that Dad would take me back when I can't even handle this? It's killing me and I don't know what to do anymore, I just want the pain to stop. Why won't the pain stop?

"Andrew, sit down." Hands on my shoulders help me down on the ground and although I'm still breathing quickly, the tears have stopped and the pain is starting to fade, if only a little. I bring my hands down and I look up at Lonnie. He's taken off his mask and hat and he looks pale and frightened and I feel guilty for scaring him like this. "Is it getting better?" He asks quietly and I shake my head because it's still agony.

"Not gonna ask what happened," Joe says from somewhere behind me, "cause at this point, it doesn't matter. But we're gonna get you something to take the edge off that, right Andy?" I nod and I can hear his footsteps heading over to the bar. I watch Lonnie watching him, but when he looks back at me, I look down at my hands lying in my lap. The footsteps come back before too long, and I look up to see Joe kneeling beside me. He's still the same man I remember; round and balding, although the lines on his face have got wider and what's left of his hair has got greyer. It's been years. He smiles reassuringly at me, then drops his gaze and I look down and I notice the syringe in his hands. I lift my arm up and lay it across his knee, wrist pointed up at the ceiling.

"What're you doing?" Lonnie asks. He sounds the perfect combination between suspicious and worried.

Joe glances at me, then looks over at Lonnie. "Heroin. I'll stop the pain."

Lonnie makes an exasperated noise as Joe feels around the crook of my elbow and steadies the needle. "But not only is that illegal," Lonnie says quickly, "it's really dangerous. You could kill him."

"Least this way he'll die happy," Joe mutters and the needle slides into my vein. As he starts to inject the liquid, he chuckles slightly to himself. "Where'd you find this kid?"

"Found me," I mutter and Joe laughs quietly.

"Not only that," Lonnie hisses, leaning closer to us, "tell me you did not just have that lying around."

Joe withdraws the needle and rolls his eyes. "Relax kid. I was gonna use it. But heroin's pretty much morphine 'cept it makes you feel better faster and Andy obviously needs something to kill the pain."

"We could've just given him painkillers. They would've worked and they would've been safer. There aren't any hospitals running right now, what if he overdoses?"

I reach up and put my hand on Lonnie's knee. "The pain's going and it's a really nice high," I murmur, careful not to move my mouth more than necessary. "There's no way I can overdose on what he gave me."

"It's still not safe," Lonnie insists. "You could've had painkillers."

"Where from?" Joe asks, standing up. "It's a bar. The best I could do is aspirin and that'd do fuck all for what he's got. Besides, forcing him to swallow a tablet would just be cruel."

"But," Lonnie starts to protest again, but I cut him off.

"I know you're anti-drugs and all, but please just leave it. Gotham's gone to hell, I've been sliced and diced, you're a vigilante, let it be."

"You sound better," Joe says as he heads back to the bar.

I nod a little. "I feel amazing. Like, my mouth hurts and I'm not gonna move it much, but it doesn't even matter. I feel..." I stop and take a breath. "I shoulda done this years ago."

I can hear Joe laugh a little. "I wouldn't of let you. Your friend's right, this shit's not good for you."

"Hypocrite," Lonnie mutters and I find that I can smile just a little.

"Damn right," Joe says proudly. "Told you I'd look out for you, didn't I? This is... These are exceptional circumstances." I can hear footsteps coming back and suddenly there are two large hands gripping my shoulders and I don't mean to but I flinch anyway. If Joe notices, he doesn't say anything. "Up we get," he mutters as he hooks his arms beneath mine and lifts me to my feet. "We'll go into the back room." Lonnie gets up and lets me lean on him as Joe lets go of me and walks ahead of us to open the door.

The room is small and smells like cigarettes and cheap beer, but the couch Lonnie sits me on is soft and warm and even though I know I shouldn't, I feel at home here. Lonnie sits down beside me, perching awkwardly on the edge of the cushion. He looks more normal now he's taken off the mask and hat, but his gold stick is still strapped to his back and he's still dressed all in red so I guess normal is a relative term. Joe sits down on a chair opposite us and looks at me. He's staring and the guilt washes over me and even the high I'm feeling can't quite get rid of it.

"So," Lonnie says eventually, breaking the awkward silence. "I'm Lonnie, I'm Andrew's friend. How do you two know each other?"

"I used to work here," I say quietly. "But, uh, things happened. There was... well, there was trouble."

"There was a big thing a few years back," Joe says, turning to look at Lonnie. "You would've only been a kid. But the Joker was killing drag queens around this area. Never really understood why, to be honest. But almost twenty people died, including my partner, and then Andy goes missing for almost a week. Thought we lost him too. But he comes back and the killings stopped. There were a few copycat killers after, but we sorted those out. After all that he worked here for a while but then he just sort of, disappeared." He turns to look at me and I look down at the ground. "Y'know," he says in a kind voice, "I don't really mind that you stopped. I just figured it had something to do with the whole Joker thing. But, in the future, a warning would've been appreciated."

"I couldn't."

"And then you turn up when Gotham's gone to hell. Your face is slashed, you're covered in blood, I'm pretty sure you're naked under that." I look up in time to see Joe lean forwards. "I'm not stupid. You didn't want to tell me things, and that's fine. And I think that maybe at times you tried to tell me. But you're in deep with something you can't control. You haven't been here in three years. What's the story?" I hesitate and Joe smiles tiredly. "If someone's gonna come after me, I'd appreciate a little warning."

I don't want to say it. Not to Joe. I was always just a normal kid to him. And, if I tell him, then I have to tell him about the terrible things I did. He won't look at me the same. I won't be little Andy anymore. But he's just looking at me and I suppose I don't really have a choice and anyway, what's the worst that can happen?

"The Joker is my father."

Joe's eyes narrow. He looks at Lonnie, the back to me. "He knew?" He asks and I shrug.

"He guessed." A small part of me appreciates that he doesn't question the fact.

Nodding, Joe looks down at his hands. "And do you live with him?"

"Not anymore." Joe looks up at that. "I did," I explain. "For most of my life. There was an apartment in the Narrows, just round the corner from Arkham." It occurs to me that I'm speaking better, and I guess I just don't notice the pain anymore. It's just sort of there but it doesn't matter. "That night I came back, that was the night I moved out."

"And you lived with him, even though you knew...?"

I shrug. "What else was I gonna do? I was just a kid and... He's my Dad, Joe."

Joe shakes his head. "Helena and I would've taken you in. We saw the bruises, we knew something wasn't right."

"I couldn't have done that. He would've killed you and taken me back. You just don't get it. I belong to him."

"Andrew," Lonnie says quietly, "you don't belong to him. You're your own person."

Shaking my head, I look down at my hands, focusing on the blood staining them. I never noticed it there before. There's so much blood on my hands. "All those murders. They were my fault."

"No," Joe says, but he's wrong.

"I was here with you and I was happy. And he didn't like that. So he punished me. If I stopped when he told me to, none of it would've happened. They'd all still be alive." I raise my eyes and I can see Joe glance across at Lonnie. "I never told him this, Joe. He guessed who my father was, but I never said anything. How could I?" I wring my hands and raise my head. "I still get nightmares. Every night. I can remember what I did. Joe." My voice starts to break. "I did terrible things."

"Andy, it's not your fault."

I open my mouth to confess but the words catch in my throat. I have to say it, but I don't want to. He'll hate me. "I killed them," I whisper and he mustn't have heard me because he looks confused. "Emilia and Helena. I killed them, Joe. It's my fault they're dead."

Joe smiles sadly and shakes his head. "Andy, none of that was your fault. Emilia jumped off a building-"

"I was there! She called me for help and I didn't stop her. And she only jumped because... Because of what Dad did to her. She was my only friend. She knew and she tried to help me and I didn't protect her. I was too worried about myself; I didn't think he'd go after her." I'm getting hysterical but I can't help it now. I spent three years trying to forget but I can still remember her. The way she smelt when she hugged me, the grin she wore when we'd talk about leaving Gotham, the scream she made when she jumped to her death. I can remember her and I can remember how I failed her and that hurts more than my face ever could.

Lonnie puts his hand on my knee. "You can't blame yourself for what your father did," he says evenly. "It was him. Not you."

I swallow back the tears and nod. "Fine. Maybe you don't think Emilia was my fault but," I look Joe in the eye, "I killed Helena. It was me. Dad abducted her, and Dad tortured her, but I put the knife in her throat. He made me, he told me to, and I begged and I cried but I didn't have any other choice." My lower lip trembles and I can feel a tear seeping out of the corner of my eye. "I killed her so she wouldn't suffer anymore, but I still killed her." My shoulders start to shake and my breathing becomes erratic and I'm trying to keep it together but it's just so hard. After a moment, Joe launches himself out of his chair and I'm expecting him to hit me, I'm ready for him to punish me, but his big solid arms wrap around me and pull me into a hug, pressing my tight against his chest and I start to cry.

"You didn't have to carry that alone," he whispers in my ear. "Andy, I love you like you're my own son. You could've told me and I would've been here for you."

"But I killed her."

"But it's not your fault."

And, at that point, I don't care that it hurts. I don't care that my head is buzzing and my face is stinging, I put my head down on Joe's shoulder and I start to breathe. I almost hate myself for it, but I feel better. Well, maybe better's not the best word for it. I feel... emptier. And that's not a bad thing at all. I raise an arm to wrap around Joe's back, and I suppose it must feel like I'm returning the hug, but I'm not really. For the first time since it happened, I raise my fingers to the corner of my mouth and I find the stitches. My finger follows them across my cheek, then I bring my fingers across to the other side of my mouth to repeat the process. And suddenly I understand. This was just a test.


	9. Ripping It Out And Making It New

**Ripping It Out And Making It New**

I stand in front of the mirror and examine my face. It's been a little over a week since it happened, and it looks like the cuts have healed. Which, I dunno, is kinda amazing considering how huge they are. Dad literally sliced my face open; if I open my mouth as wide as I can, the stitches go all the way up to the point where my jaw meets the rest of my head. There's about two, two and a half inches of stitches stretching out from both corners of my mouth. I don't know how I survived this. Shock should've got me or, if not that, blood loss. The fact that I'm still alive and well means that either I'm a lot tougher than I thought, or Dad really does love me enough to not want to see me dead.

And I know that's stupid. Deep down I know how pathetic and stupid I sound when I start thinking about Dad. It's just that, more than anything, I want to know that he loves me. And that's ridiculous. The Joker doesn't love, he's insane, he's incapable of that sort of thing. Rationally, I know that. But I still want it. And if I try hard enough, I can almost see it. But what does that say about me? I'm no better than Harley when it comes to him, but at least I didn't give up everything for Dad. I never had anything to give up in the first place.

I stayed with Joe for two days after Lonnie left me there. I wasn't really in any position to leave, and I think Joe liked having me back. But it was just so overwhelming. I wasn't prepared for Joe to take me in so willingly, acting like nothing had happened and I wasn't responsible for all the misery in his life. He should've been angry, upset at the very least, but he wasn't. He just wanted to talk about me, how I was doing, what I had been through, what my plans were. Somewhere there was the knowledge that nothing I told him would surprise him in the same way that nothing I did would make him think any less of me. On the second day it clicked; he saw me as a victim. He pitied me. In his eyes, I'd been through so much that he couldn't begin to comprehend. I'm sure that he was already beginning to diagnose me with disorders and psychoses that I don't have. And it's normal and it makes sense and I know why he thought that way, but I hated it. I'm not a victim. And it's not even the 'I refuse to allow myself to be' line, I'm just not. These things happened and I'm glad they did. Maybe from the outside they seem bad, I can see why people would think that, but they're not so bad. Even though I hated it at the time, I think I've grown enough to know that I needed it.

I didn't tell Joe I was leaving. It was the third night after Bane blew the city to hell and I sat up and waited for Joe to fall asleep before I crept outside and walked away from The Mean Mother. Outside was chaos. The riots had stopped, but the streets were filled with rubble and trash and, here and there, the occasional body. So this was anarchy. Seemed just like another form of oppression to me.

The first few days on the streets passed by in a blur. I wasn't fully aware of where I was or what was happening to me, but once people caught sight of my face they tended to leave me alone. But the pain came back and this time I was forced to live with it. I'm not sure if it faded quickly or if I just adjusted to it, but it wasn't anywhere near as terrible as the first day. Luckily enough, even if I was partly brain dead, I managed to fall back on my instincts. I joined groups in looting homes and stores for food, I went dumpster diving, I hid under overpasses and in doorways with an oversized hoodie covering my face any time I saw someone I should be afraid of. More often than not, that someone was one of Bane's soldiers. You could tell if he walked around like he owned the place and carried an automatic. That was when I pulled the hood over my head and shrank into the shadows and hoped he hadn't seen me. I'm not ready to die. Not at Bane's hands. He doesn't have the right to end my suffering.

I'm not sure why I decided to go back to my apartment. I think it was maybe a sense of curiosity, wanting to know if it was still there, if they'd ransacked the place looking for me, but it was probably mostly the result of my self-destructive tendencies. I mean, going back to the one place Bane's men know I live? It's either madness or genius, but it is so hard to tell these days. The two do tend to run together.

To my surprise, the place was largely intact. The door was kicked in but hey, it's a no-man's land out there, what else should I expect? Everything else was pretty much fine; you can always put furniture back where it's supposed to be. But, for whatever reason, I couldn't stay there. It didn't feel right. It didn't feel like home anymore. Bane's men could find me there, Lonnie could find me there. Hell, the only person I don't expect to find me there would be Dad, and even then I doubt that he doesn't know where I've been living all these years. But he wouldn't go out and find me. That's not what he does. He'd wait for me to come back to him. And I don't know, maybe it's time.

So I walked across the street and went back to Dad's apartment and part of me hates myself for wanting to call it home. And I don't know what possessed me to, but I went inside and I headed straight into the bathroom and here I stand, still staring at my face in the mirror. I'm filled with so much hate right now. I hate myself for being weak. I hate Dad for never showing he cared. I hate him for doing this to me, for forcing me to look like the monster he knows I can be. I hate him so much. But more than anything I hate him because of how much I love him. It's something I can't tell anyone. And I understand it; Dad's not worthy of love. He's a monster. But if he was just an estranged father, just a seemingly normal father figure that I'd cut from my life, then I know that people would tell me to give him another chance. Even if he still abused me. If they didn't know, if they couldn't see, then they'd tell me things like 'time heals all wounds' and 'no matter what, he's still your father' and they'd mean it too. They'd expect me to go back to him because boys need their fathers. But I guess the second you can see the wounds he inflicts, then people stop understanding. It's like they think that his hurting me can make me hate him, but it's all I've ever known. To me, to him, that is love. And so people think it's mad that I can still love him through all that. Regardless of what he's done, he's still my father. He's the only family I have. And even if sometimes he hurt me and scared me, he still provided for me and I loved him because I was a kid and you're supposed to love your father. That's what they told me. But when people start calling you a victim and you decide that maybe enough is enough and you leave, then people start to assume that the love's gone, that I've realised something about him but they're so wrong. It's still there. It's always been there. Deep down. He's put me through so much and even after this, I'm not sure there's anything he can do that can make me stop loving him. Because he's my father. Because I want my father in my life. Just like they told me I would. I just wish people would understand that. I'm no different than the child from the broken home. It's just that you can see my scars.

Speaking of which, I have no idea what I should about them. Obviously plastic surgery's not an option, but I don't even know how long I'm supposed to leave these stitches in. Phone lines went down over the city in the late hours of the first day, and I'm not even going to pretend that the internet is an option for Gotham anymore. But the skin looks kinda healed and when I run my tongue across the stitches in my mouth, I can't taste blood. It all feels fairly healed, if disfigured. So maybe the stitches are ready to come out. But if that's the case, how do I do that? How do you take stitches out? Does it hurt? I'm so unprepared for this. But I guess there's probably no way I could've been prepared for it.

Bending down, I open up the small cupboard under the sink and start to rummage around down there. I don't know what I'm looking for, but this is Dad's bathroom, he has to have something useful hidden away down here. Almost immediately I stumble across a small pair of scissors and it only takes a few more minutes of searching for me to unearth a pair of needle-nose pliers. Obviously they're not the best tools to use, but they're the only ones I've got and they'll get the job done. I get back to my feet and stick the ends of the tools under hot running water. I know enough to know I've got to try to sterilise them before I go sticking them in my face, especially considering what an infection would do to me given the current state of Gotham.

While I wait, I lean forwards and inspect the stitches again in the mirror. Considering how disgusting they look, they are fairly neat, almost professional looking. Maybe Quinn...? I sure as hell can't see Dad having the patience to stitch my face back together, and she was a doctor or something. But anyway, they shouldn't be too hard to pull out. I turn the water off and pick up the pair of scissors. Holding them loosely, I use the mirror to help me angle the blade beneath the loop of the first stitch, and I twitch slightly as the warm metal touches my face. Once it's through, I just cut the loop and expect the worst but nothing happens. I don't start bleeding. My cheek doesn't split open. It all looks like it's fine? So I go through and I take my time but I cut all the stitches until they're just sitting there, stuck in my face like little loose threads. The scars between them frighten me, but I can't focus on that now, can't lose the nerve when the job's only half done. I put down the pair of scissors and pick up the pliers and hold them uncomfortably close to my face. Sighing heavily, I raise them to my cheek and slowly clamp them down on one of the loose threads, right next to the knot that held the stitches in place. I can feel my heart racing and my hands tremble, accidentally tugging the thread before I'm ready and I whimper softly. It doesn't hurt, as such. Nothing like the pain I've experienced. But it's definitely uncomfortable and if I thought I could, I'd stop. I watch myself in the mirror as I wiggle the piers and the thread on one side of the scar gets longer as the thread on the other side disappears into my cheek. I know I'm whimpering loudly now, but I don't try to stop myself. There's no point in that. I am weak. I know that. But maybe there's strength in there as well.

I don't know how long it takes me. It feels like hours, and when I'm done the sink is littered with scraps of thread and drops of blood and my hands are shaking so bad I can barely put the pliers down without dropping them. But it is done. I didn't bleed much, and I think it hurt more than it was supposed to, but given the circumstances...

My new scars stretch angrily across my face. They're pink and puffy and they look just as painful as they are. And I look tortured. Pale and shaking and the only colour in my face is in my scars. I don't know if I should dare make the comparison, but I do think it fits. I am beginning to look like him. He made me this way and I suppose it's only natural. My hair's getting longer, shaggier, the dark circles under my eyes getting more pronounced from the lack of sleep. I don't want this, I never wanted this. I can't end up like this but maybe it's just too late. Maybe I did have options, maybe it never had to be this way and I just didn't get out in time. Maybe all this is my fault after all.

The floorboards outside the bathroom start to creak and I start to panic. No one should be in here. No one should see my like this. I'm not prepared, I can't cover myself, can't hide the monster. I cross my hands over my mouth, my fingers covering my scars as I hold my breath and pray the intruder will just leave but the footsteps only get closer until they're right outside the bathroom door. And they stop. The hinges groan as the door swings open and it's Lonnie standing there in jeans and a hoodie and the look of relief on his face when he spots me makes me feel sick with guilt. He starts towards me but then I move my hands, revealing my scars and he stops short a few feet away from me. He sighs and I can literally feel my face fall as he smiles sadly at me.

"Dad did a good job," I say quietly.

Lonnie shrugs. "Could've been worse. You could be dead."

"Wish I were," I mutter and Lonnie looks horrified.

"I looked for you," he says. "When you left Joe's. I came round the next morning and he said you must've left in the night."

"You didn't have to look for me. I was fine."

"And how the fuck was I supposed to know that? I found you in a gutter, Andrew, naked and covered in your own blood! For all I knew you coulda gone back to let him finish the job!" He was shouting at me, and I didn't expect that. It doesn't make sense for him to be like this.

"I don't know why you care," I say quietly and Lonnie opens his mouth angrily, then stops himself and purses his lips. Folding my arms across my chest, I raise my shoulders and shrink back into myself. "I'm not important in any of this. You have Gotham just the way you wanted it, why don't you go and enjoy it?" Lonnie shakes his head and he looks like he's about to say something but I'm not finished yet. "No, I'm serious. I don't matter; I was never going to be a part of this. You knew that. And now I've made my choices and I have to go see them through."

"You can't go back to him."

"But where else can I go?"

"Stay with me. I'll take care of you."

"But-"

"Bane doesn't care if you're helping me or not. I don't even think he cares if I'm out there doing anything. He's already won and he knows it."

"But my Dad..."

Lonnie shakes his head. "What about him? He dumped you in the middle of the street, Andrew. I don't think he's expecting you back."

"I can't believe that."

"Don't be an idiot."

"But he stitched me up or, at least, had me stitched up properly. He made sure I didn't bleed out. I'm alive now because he cared." The way Lonnie glances away and shuffles his feet tells me he doesn't want to talk about this, but he's wrong. He has to know. "My Dad loves me." Lonnie looks back at me and his face is so sad that I falter and sigh. "He has to love me," I whisper. "That's what dads do. He protected me and he taught me-"

"And he beat the shit out of you. He made you kill people; he cut you up and left you for dead. That's not love, Andrew. He's abusing you. You've got to see that."

"I know, it's just..."

"It's just nothing." Lonnie takes a step forwards, getting into my personal space and looking down at me. "He's abusive and cruel and he's made you think that you don't have a choice when you do. You left once. And then you thought you had to go back and look at what he did to you."

"What are you trying to say?"

Lonnie furrows his brow and shakes his head. "I'm worried. If you go back again..." He glances off to the side, looking at the sink and the remains of my stitches. "Look at what he put you through," he says softly. "I'm worried that if you go back again, you won't leave. I think he'll kill you."

I shake my head quickly. "He wouldn't do that." Lonnie looks back at me, tilting his head to one side. "He could've killed me at any time. He wouldn't do it now. There'd be no reason, no point. And I know it doesn't look like love to you, and you probably don't see why I keep going back, but he's my father and I do love him and I know he cares about me. He promised to protect me."

"At what cost, Andrew?"

"It was just a test," I whisper and Lonnie looks dismayed.

"You can't keep writing off all the terrible things he does as tests to prove your loyalty to him or whatever," he says and his voice is tinged with desperation. "Cause one day he's going to test you and you are going to die and it will have all been for nothing."

"I've gotta die sometime."

"I'd prefer it if you didn't die at all."

"Yeah," I scoff, "I'll work on becoming immortal just for you."

"What's the point?" Lonnie says dramatically. "You'd just spend your life running around after your father, doing whatever he wanted cause you're so afraid of him."

"Yes, but he's the Joker," I snap. "Lonnie, what the fuck do you want from me?"

Lonnie's hands reach out and cup my cheeks, his thumbs pressing into my scars as he leans down and he kisses me. His lips are warm and soft but they're only there for a moment before they're gone again and I'm left dumbstruck, panting slightly in his 's looking down at me and I can see the terror on his face as he slowly releases his hold on me and pulls his arms back, his hands balled into fists and held tightly against his abdomen. His mouth hangs open slightly and he's breathing quickly, the rapid rise and fall of his chest making me think that maybe he's just as confused and strangely interested as I am.

"Um, thanks?" I say quietly and Lonnie smiles.

"I thought you were gonna freak out."

"Oh, I'm pretty close."

"Right."

We stand in awkward silence for a few minutes. I look down and bite my lower lip and I can still feel the sensation of his lips pressed against mine and I didn't expect this but, at the same time, I don't think I'd mind if it happened again. Glancing up, I can see Lonnie's eyes dart away as soon as he notices I'm looking. A touch of red creeps into his cheeks and I smile to myself. Maybe this would be ok.

"If you want, we could just pretend that never happened," Lonnie says, looking back at me. I drop my gaze and I can hear him sigh. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be."

There's a few more moments of awkward silence when Lonnie starts to chuckle. "I really fucked this up, didn't I?"

I make a soft groaning noise and let my arms fall to my sides. "Look, Lonnie-"

He nods his head. "It's fine. Worst timing ever. I'm sorry; I was stupid to think-"

"Oh shut up. That's not what I was gonna say." Sighing, I look back at him and try to focus my thoughts. "I'm really trying to not make this sound like a bad movie. Look, I really like you and all, but I don't want to be the reason you end up dead."

"That's not gonna happen."

"You don't know that. You don't know him."

Lonnie's smile is smug and self-assured. "There's nothing he can do to me. Not in Bane's city. The same goes for you too, y'know. Just come with me; you'll be safe."

"Yeah, right. I kick your butt all the time. What makes you think you can protect me?"

"I'm not afraid of your father. That's what."

"You're either very naive or very stupid."

"I don't think the two are mutually exclusive." I'm confused and I guess he can see it in my face cause he starts to smile. "Look, it doesn't matter. This is gonna sound so rom-com and I'm sorry about that, but I need you to come with me. You have no idea what it was like for me, finding you in that gutter. And then I came round later to check on you and you were gone. I was looking for you for almost a week, Andrew." He stops and sighs loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose with the index finger and thumb of his right hand. "I care about you." He lowers his hand and smiles awkwardly. "A lot. And I don't know what I'd do if you died because I wanted to play dress-up."

"You feel guilty," I say quietly and he shrugs. I point to my face. "About this?" His smile is terse and his expression says it all and I know how that feels. "You have no idea how familiar those words sound."

Lonnie nods his head slightly. "Did you say it to her?"

"I wanted to. She was my best friend and I let her die."

"Then you have to understand where I'm coming from. Me dying cause of the Joker, that's an abstract threat. That you could die, cause of Bane or your Dad or whatever, I think that's a very real threat. And it's very much my fault. But you know what that's like."

"I do." His shoulders drop in what I guess must be relief and I want to be reassured by that. I want to take comfort in his willingness to be around me after everything I am, despite the inherent danger, but I can't help but raise my right hand to my cheek and feel my scar. It's a reminder of everything I've done and I've got to wonder how I'm going to be able to live with myself with a reminder right there, staring back at me from every angle. "My scars," I whisper and Lonnie grabs my wrist, wrenching my hand away from my cheek.

"Andrew, I don't care about the scars! It's still you under there. That hasn't changed." Outside there is a burst of gunfire and he looks up, teeth gritted, with an angry but slightly anxious expression. "There's not much time," he mutters, turning to look over his shoulder. "Bane's men are moving through the Narrows today, hunting down cops that might've escaped."

"Were you with them?"

"Andrew-"

"It's a simple question, Lonnie. Were you hunting down cops? Is that what Anarky is?"

"No," he snaps, whipping his head back round to face me. "No, I wasn't. It isn't. I was busy looking for you."

"Then how do you know what they're doing?"

"Radio broadcasts."

"But-"

"Look, it doesn't matter right now!" Lonnie's grip on my wrist weakens as his hand slips down into mine. I hesitate for a second before grabbing it and his eyes soften, his eyebrows rising slightly before he looks down at our hands. He looks so confused and surprised. "We really need to go," he says softly after a minute of silence. "You'll probably be a target." His head still lowered, I can see his eyes dart up to look at me, judging my reaction. I can't trust myself to stay calm, so I don't say anything. "As well as the cops, they're also looking for the 'super criminals'," he explains. "They're either gonna kill them or recruit them. They've already recruited Scarecrow. They'll be looking for the Joker next."

"Well they're not gonna mistake me for him."

Lonnie shrugs. "They could. Most of them are foreign; none of them are from Gotham. And, well..." He lets his voice trail off but I know exactly what he means. I saw it already. I look like Dad.

"Point taken. Where are we going?"

"I found somewhere to hole up back when this whole thing started. It's not too far and the area's already been searched, so if we can just get out of here, we'll be alright." Neither of us move to let go of the other's hand and I'm not sure why, but it makes me strangely happy. It's comforting. Lonnie turns and begins to walk back out of the bathroom and I follow close behind, keeping pace with him as he leaves the apartment. I feel a strange pang of guilt, or maybe anxiety, as I leave, but I've made my decision. I should stick by it.

We let go of each other's hands at the door of the building. Lonnie opens the door slightly and peers outside. "Half a dozen men on the Arkham end of the street," he says, turning back to look at me. "We need to cross into New Gotham, so we're going to have to double back to get past them."

"No one on the other side?"

"Not as far as I could see."

I shrug. "Then we run for it? It'd be just like old times."

Lonnie smiles warmly, then looks away. "You ready to run?"

"Always."

"Try to keep up this time."

Raising his right hand in the air, his index finger extended and the rest of his fingers slightly curled, Lonnie brings his hand forwards and we run out of the building, heading to the right. Behind us, I can hear shouting, but I drown it out until all I'm focusing on is the sound of my breathing, my shoes hitting the asphalt, and the distinct sound of guns being fired. Lonnie heads into an alleyway on the right and I follow him close behind. It sounds like the gunfire's stopped, but that could just be because they're moving to follow us. Breathing's starting to become a little harder as we wind our way through the back streets and part of me is beginning to wonder how we're going to lose these guys. There are no crowds anymore, no traffic. Everyone who lived in Gotham is either dead, or in custody, or hiding in their homes. But I can see the bridge we need and I can't hear the gunfire and even though my legs are starting to burn, I push on, keeping pace with Lonnie just in case the worst should happen. And I don't know, maybe it's because of the genuine life-or-death situation playing out, maybe it's because I've finally lost it, but I'm starting to wish I went back to Dad when I first had the chance. Cause this, us being here right now, running for our lives? This is my fault.


	10. Peace Treaty

**Peace Treaty**

"So... Joe tells me you used to do a drag act."

I look up at Lonnie, but there's no judgement in his voice or on his face. He sits cross-legged on the floor, his back against the wall and his head lowered as he examines the detonator I've just finished making. I sit opposite him, my back against the opposite wall of the squalid room we've been holing up in for weeks. There are wires and electrical parts littering the floor space between us. Rubbish all around us. We've been hording food in a small pile by the only window. It's safe in here, hidden well from those who might be looking, but it's dirty and it smells rotten. It's not safe go out during the day, but at night Lonnie patrols as Anarky and I scavenge for food and supplies. It's not ideal, not by a long shot, but it's life and we're alive, if you can still call it that. Neither of us really sleeps anymore. Between my nightmares and Lonnie's anxieties, it's just too hard. But building things is a good way to pass the hours until nightfall and cause the only thing I know how to build is explosives, at least we're well protected. But the thing about the past week... We never really talked. Certainly not about the day we ran from the Narrows, or life before the explosions. That's not real right now. It never mattered.

"Called it the last drag act in Gotham," Lonnie continues, his fingers stroking the blue wire leading to the power source. "Said you were pretty good."

I look down at the pieces of wire I'm twisting together between my fingers. "When did you speak to Joe?"

"The night I found you. You passed out. We kinda had to make small talk until I was sure you'd be alright with him."

Nodding, I toss the wires away and look up at him. "And?"

Lonnie shrugs. "What?"

"I dunno. Usually people've got something to say after that."

"I'm not trying to say anything. I just think it's cool." He looks up and tosses the detonator back to me. "I wish I could've seen it."

I shake my head. "No you don't. I was pretty shit. But it was fun. Well..." I let my voice trail off as my mind wanders back to that time. Only a few months before I first met Lonnie and I went to school, had a best friend, a job, a home. Maybe even a father. I can remember the dark and the fear and the smell of congealed blood pooling at my feet. "It was a pretty shit time," I whisper. "You don't wish you were there for that."

Lonnie looks like he's about to say something when there's an explosion in the hallway and we both leap to our feet. "West corridor," Lonnie hisses and I nod, pulling my knife from my pocket. Reaching for the bag that holds his Anarky costume, he sidles up towards the door and turns to look at me. "If they're still coming, it won't take them long to get here."

"Go out on the east side?"

"Head for the stairs."

"Don't split up."

Lonnie's hand lingers on the doorknob. "Aim to kill," he says softly. "Not maim." With that he flings open the door and runs out into the corridor. I follow close behind him, my knife at the ready as we dart around the explosives we'd set. I can hear gunfire following us and Lonnie runs faster. Skidding to a stop, I turn and I can see armoured men appearing at the corner where the west corridor meets the south. One looks into the room we were holing up in and another glances down the south corridor. Our eyes meet and he yells something just as I pull the detonator from my pocket, trigger it and the bomb at their feet explodes. I don't stop to survey the madness. I don't care if they're dead or if there are more pissed guys with guns who just saw me blow up their friends. I toss the detonator over my shoulder as I turn to leave, and it triggers another bomb. We should have enough time to get out now.

I catch up with Lonnie waiting at the southeast set of stairs. "You know," I pant, "it was a really fucking stupid idea to hole up on the top floor of a building."

"How so?" He says as he lets the door close behind me.

"First of all, we've gonna go down all these fucking stairs to get out. There's no way to get out via the roof. For all we know, the bottom floor is swarming with goons." I start to trot down the stairs. "You're just lucky I was here to save your ass."

"Yeah, thanks for that." Lonnie's voice is dripping with sarcasm and I allow myself a small smile. "I will always wonder what would have happened had you not been here," he continues. "Why I suppose I may have been killed."

"Alright, smart-ass, you can stop now."

"Y'know, I don't think I will." I turn around and punch him on the arm and he laughs. "You need to do something with that ego of yours."

"Just as soon as you do something with yours."

We reach the bottom of the stairs and head over towards the door. I press my ear against it but I can't hear anything. I look at Lonnie and he shrugs so I tighten my grip on my knife and push the door open a fraction. Peering through the crack, the lobby looks deserted, so I push the door open a little wider. It all looks... fine. There's no one here. I step out into the lobby and head towards the doors. We're almost there when a hand grabs my shoulder and I turn to see Lonnie staring at the elevators. The one on the left is broken, and we knew that, but the one on the right still works and the display's showing that it's coming down fast.

"Fuck."

Lonnie pushes me forwards and we run to the doors. Behind us I can hear the elevator ding to indicate its arrival and we're outside. The air is cold and the streets are deserted except for one large tan tank parked in front of our building. I look at Lonnie and Lonnie looks at me. "What are you waiting for?" He hisses. "Run. Get out of here."

"But-"

"I'm working with them, you idiot. I'll be fine but you won't be. Get out of here. I'll find you tomorrow. The second apartment."

I feel sick. I turn and run and I can hear the doors open behind me. There's gunfire and shouting and a rumbling as if the tank's starting to move and I dart down a tiny alleyway, jumping over trash and rubble and bodies as I run. My breath starts to come in wheezes and my face starts to ache but I keep running because I have no choice. I know they're behind me and I know I've abandoned Lonnie. I know I'm a terrible person. But it's crazy how afraid I am right now. And it's crazy where I want to go. And I find myself there without really knowing how. I've been going forever. Alternating between running and walking. Always looking over my shoulder. Hiding in shadows and covering my scars with my shirt. But I'm here and it makes sense. Of course it does. There's a voice in my head that whispers that this was the logical conclusion. That of course I would end up here once Lonnie was gone. I stare at the large metal door and I don't know whether I should knock or not. Perhaps he would just know I was here. Perhaps he already expected it. I lift up a trembling hand and rap on the metal just by the peephole. I can hear footsteps and movement and I hang my head in resignation. I don't know what I expect. And whatever happens, I guess I deserve it. The door opens and I look up at Dad.

He doesn't say anything. I never actually expected him to. "I came back," I whisper. "I need you." I gesture to my face. "I understand."

The silence stretches on forever, but then he reaches out and grabs my chin, tilting my head so he can see my scars. With his other hand, he runs his gloved finger across the raised skin and tuts to himself. I swallow nervously and try to avoid staring at him. "You lived," he says finally. I nod and he frowns. "I didn't expect you would." He steps back and I know I can leave. It's something I could do. I could turn and walk away and never see him again. We both know it comes down to my choice and I'm not sure he cares either way. But I do. And it was easier saying all the things Lonnie wanted to hear back when I was miles away from Dad, but now I'm here, standing in front of him, and everything's changed. I don't have the willpower to leave. And a part of me, however small, wants him to love me. Whatever it takes. So I walk through the door.

Everything's different compared to the last time I was here. The rooms are lit, the space is crowded, and I don't feel afraid. I should. I should be terrified. Or guilty at the very least. But it all just feels inevitable. I feel like I belong here. The thugs stepping out of Dad's way, they're also giving me a wide berth. They're giving me looks of both fear and curiosity and I don't like to admit it, but it feels so good. So maybe I'm not Dad. Maybe I can't quite bring myself to completely fall down that rabbit hole, but I don't need to. I don't need to be him. I could be here and still be me, but I could be safe and protected and powerful. I just have to do whatever Dad asks me to, and after the last couple of months I reckon I could do that.

Dad leads me into a smaller room on the far side of the building and closes the door behind us. Now it's just us and I get a feeling, a tightness in the pit of my stomach that's like fear but not. Sort of a feeling of apprehension, if anything. I'm not afraid, just... worried.

"So," Dad says as he strolls across the room, stopping at the table pushed against the far wall. "It's been a while."

I nod. "For a while I didn't think you wanted me back."

Turning to look at me with a frown, Dad shakes his head. "Oh, I never said _that_."

"You cut me open and left me for dead, bleeding and naked in the middle of the street." I don't know where that came from, but I'm not finished. "And you didn't leave it there; you did just enough to fuck me around. Made sure the stitches were right. Didn't let me bleed out." I can feel the pinprick of tears just behind my eyelids but I won't cry. Not now. "You know what I want and you brought it so close and then you just ripped it away from me. Well I'm not going to get pushed away this time. I want to be here. I want to be safe. I want to kill Bane." Dad starts to smile, as though I've said something hilarious and I'm starting to realise just how stupid I must sound. "Obviously," I say a little slower, "I can't kill Bane. I'm not strong enough. But you are. This is your city. Teach me to be stronger. Make me like you. I told you before that I'd do what you wanted."

"And you took months to come back."

I shrug. "I'm here, aren't I?" Dad smiles lazily and I'm starting to get the feeling that we're both arguing for the same thing. I guess I might as well be honest. "I need to protect my friend."

"Well," Dad says, folding his arms and leaning against the table, "it seems we have the same goal in mind."

"Kill Bane and take back the city?" He makes a kind of shrugging motion that I take to mean that I'm more or less correct. "Look," I say quickly, "I wasn't lying. I will do whatever it takes. I will kill people for this. I've learnt to kill people for this." The words are falling out of my mouth faster than I can control them and I am telling the truth but it's not the truth I've ever told myself. "I don't really have anyone anymore. You beat that out of me and I'm alone. I'll kill and maim and torture so long as it gets rid of the masked man. I will do it. I..." I falter, just as I realise what I'm about to say. "I want to do it."

Dad's eyes narrow. "I'm not sure," he says slowly, his tongue rolling over his lips, "if you're trying to convince me, or yourself.

"Both." The word comes out in a whisper and I'm not sure whether it's right, but I believe it. "I've blown people up. I've stabbed them. And some of them... If I had a gun I would've shot them. I'm..." I let my voice trail off as I try to think. "I don't think I'm like you," I say eventually. "But I think I could be. If you taught me. And I think," I gesture to my face, "after this, I think I want it?"

He says nothing for a good five minutes. I've run out of things to say, so I stay quiet. I've said my piece. I do want to be free, to be with Lonnie and to just live, but that's not going to happen in this kind of Gotham. Not with the threat of Bane hanging over our heads. And Dad was right, what he said all those years ago. I need him. I'm a part of him. And, deep down, I just want to be like him. Maybe I didn't back then, but now it's a necessity. Now I need to be stronger, to be something more than just Andrew. I need him to teach me. And then maybe, just maybe, I can be free.

"There will be _rules_," Dad says eventually, rolling his 'r's as he stalks towards me. "Requiremen_t_s."

"Anything-" I start, but he cuts me off.

"Don'_t_ speak unless it's asked of you." I nod my head. I can do that. "You answer to me, and _only_ me. Bu_t_," he says, smacking his lips, "you have no power here. Not over _them_." He gestures to the door and I nod again. That's fine. Good, even. "When I tell you to do something, you do it. No. Questions. Asked." He stops and considers me for a moment. "Speak."

"Thank you," I say in a small voice, and he approaches me, cupping my cheek in his hand. He pats my cheek twice, then turns my head and forces me to turn towards a second door in the back corner of the room. I let him direct me through the door and out of the room and even though there is a small part of me still fighting this, that still wants this to be over, I know it's for the best. This is the best possible choice I could have made.


	11. Crime and Punishment

**Crime and Punishment**

Dad's left me alone in a largely empty room. He's done this before, so many times over the course of my life, but this time is different. This time the door's not locked. He told me what he wanted me to do. Head to the government supply drop a few blocks away. Steal as much as I could get away with. And I will do that. Of course I'll do it. But it can wait an hour or so. I've got an appointment to make.

Standing up, I push open the door and start to walk down the hallway, through Dad's office and out into the main room of the building. The space is largely deserted now; only a few thugs are still here to make sure the place doesn't get overrun. The rest are with Dad and Harley, out somewhere in Gotham, hunting Bane's men. I don't expect Dad's thugs will get anywhere with the task, they don't look to be the brightest bunch, but I'm sure Dad'll get stuff done. He's the Joker. Despite everything that's happened, I still believe that Gotham belongs to him. So I walk through the building unafraid. I don't doubt that Dad will find what he's looking for. And, in the meantime, I'll do his task and tie up some loose ends while I'm at it.

Gotham is lit with the predawn light and the air is cool and still. Winter's here and it's going to be a cold one. It would be around twelve hours since I left Lonnie, and he should be done with Bane by now, so I head off in the direction of the Narrows. There was an abandoned apartment on the other side of Arkham that Lonnie found when he was looking for me. We figured a while back that it would be a good meeting spot, should we ever get separated. I fold my arms across my chest as I walk. I don't know what I want anymore. This deal of Dad's seems like a good idea. But I don't know how Lonnie will react. Well, that's a lie. He'll hate it. I know that. He'll tell me I'm an idiot, demand that I come with him. It's terrible but part of me hope that he just doesn't show up. It'll save me the awful conversation, at any rate.

I walk for ages. I take my time, slipping through the backstreets, being careful to go unnoticed. Not that anyone really looks twice at people in the streets, but it doesn't hurt to be careful. It feels weird, heading back to the Narrows again. The area itself still looks like home. I can recognise the buildings; I know who used to live where and which rooftops are easy to jump across. But the place feels tainted. So much has happened here. It's hard to feel safe. Then again, I suppose it'd be hard to feel safe anywhere in Gotham right now, what with the armed men roaming the streets and the bomb being driven round with its detonator in the hands of persons unknown. That never made sense to me. Lonnie told me about it, about Bane's announcement at the stadium, and to me it just doesn't add up. Why would you give power to an ordinary citizen? One of the very people you've threatened with death and held hostage in the city? Of course they won't blow up the city, that's not what ordinary people do. Bane's just removed the threat of the bomb by giving the detonator away. Unless the detonator's meaningless. I remember discussing it with Lonnie, how he reckoned that giving away the detonator was literally giving power to the people. It was all part of his anarchist bullshit. No, if you've gone to all the effort to get a nuclear bomb, you don't give away the detonator. Not to an ordinary person. There's either no detonator at all, or Bane's palmed it off to one of his lieutenants, who may or may not be undercover. That makes sense. Bane's not stupid. This is part of some greater plan and having a premature explosion would ruin it. But as for whether or not the bomb's real? I don't know and I don't care. Either it's real and it explodes, or it's a fake and I'm stuck in Gotham. And both of those options mean Hell for me.

When I get to the apartment the place is deserted. It's no surprise, I figure. It's only a few hours after dawn; Lonnie could still be out patrolling as Anarky. But the time stretches on and I can see the sun climbing higher over the buildings and I'm starting to worry. It's tomorrow. He said he'd be here and he's not. So something must have gone wrong. I head away from the window and start to investigate the apartment, looking for any kind of evidence that Lonnie had been here but there's nothing. I'm turning over old papers, moving the scarce pieces of furniture that remain but, from what I can see, I'm probably the only person who's been in this apartment for months. And the morning's passing me by. If I don't hurry, I won't be able to get back in time to meet the government supply drop and then where will I be? I can't disappoint Dad, not a few hours after he agreed to take me back. But I can't completely abandon Lonnie again. He said he'd be here.

There's a creak on the stairs and I run to the door, flinging it open but there's no one there. I should've known it wasn't him. Something's gone wrong but I can't wait for him. Grabbing an old tin of shoe polish that I found in one of the wardrobes, I dip my fingers into the black and quickly draw the anarchist A on the floor. At least now Lonnie would know I'd been here, if he ever shows up. Tossing the tin to the side, I wipe my fingers on my shirt and head back out the door. I'll try to come back this afternoon but, even if I don't, at least Lonnie will know I'm alive.

The air outside is getting a bit warmer, but the wind's picked up and it's biting as it blows straight through my clothes. I wrap myself up tighter and begin the long walk back to the government supply drop. Dad said they're supposed to be dropping off food and water and undercover cops and I can think of at least six reasons why Dad's so interested in the last point, least of all being interference in his plans. His 'mission' for me is really simple enough; take as much food as I can, as many weapons as I can find, and identify the new cops on the streets. It's easy enough for Dad to spot the Gotham cops still standing, he's had enough run-ins with them by now to know them personally, but fresh meat's another matter. Bane's men'll be watching the drop-offs and keeping an eye on who's staying and, the way Dad figures it, they're not going to notice me hanging around doing the same thing. I would disagree but that's not my place anymore.

I'm almost at the spot when I'm starting to get the feeling of being watched. Pulling my hoodie up, I bow my head and hunch my shoulders and slip into the nearest alleyway. I'm probably not going to lose them, whoever it is, but I can at least make it a bit harder for them to follow me. I can hear a noise on a rooftop above me and, as I look up, a black figure leaps across the space between the buildings and is gone before I can properly comprehend exactly what it was. But, then again, I suppose Gotham's never really been limited in the costumed freaks department. But it could mean trouble. I speed up and just as I'm rounding the corner, I can see the government truck pulling up at the designated spot. And that's good. Means I haven't fucked up yet. But just as I think that, the men in the truck get out and the black figure reappears and levels them. I freeze in shock as the figure in black, a woman with long brown hair, steps over their bodies and disappears round the side of the truck. A moment passes, then the back doors of the truck swing open and she's out again, climbing along the top of the truck then leaping up onto the neighbouring building and gone in the blink of an eye. I have no idea what I just watched, but while they're still out I may as well help myself before the hordes of frantic Gothamites appear. Forgetting everything, I run over to the truck and pull myself into the back compartment and start looking for something useful. There's bread and fruit and gallons of water but no guns and no sign that there's supposed to be anyone else here but the two drivers. And I can hear movement; groans and the sound of shuffling on wet concrete and terror grips me tight. How am I supposed to carry any of this back without getting caught? I grab a sack of what looks to be bread, open it up and dump about half of it onto the floor of the truck and replace it with whatever fruit I can lay my hands on. The sack's starting to get heavy so I sling it onto my back and jump out of the truck running. There's shouting behind me but I don't bother turning to look. There's really no point in that.

I'm not sure how far I've gone before I realise I've gone the wrong way. Turning back isn't really an option; they could be looking for me. But I think if I cut down this street here, then turn at the crossroads, then I should be heading in the right direction. Maybe? What does it fucking matter anymore? I'll find my way back, I always do, and I've got the stuff he wanted. I can't even fathom how they're feeding all of Gotham with supply drops like that. Before all this there were supposed to be thirty million people living in and commuting to Gotham every day. Thirty million people. The city went to hell on a weekend, so the number would be less, considering the wage slaves wouldn't have been in. But there would have been families, tourists; there was a football game that day. Thirty million people and how many of them are dead? Lonnie said there were like three thousand cops trapped in the sewers beneath the city, that Bane blew up almost all of the bridges, blocked off the tunnels. There were explosions planted all over the city and he destroyed the stadium and started the mass riot. There are people hanging in front of Solomon Wayne Courthouse and, now the Gotham River's frozen over, there are people trying to walk across the ice and just disappearing. How many dead? And, of those that remain, how many of them could possibly be fed by trucks like that? Nowhere near enough, by my count. There must be so many starving out there. And I never really thought about it. I've never been fed by the government before, never seen what they had to offer. And, now that I have, now that I've taken this much, have I taken food from the mouth of a starving child? I stop and let the sack fall to the ground, leaning against the wall with my head in my hands. At least when it was just me and Lonnie fending for ourselves, we were taking what we needed from what other people didn't want. We weren't hurting anyone, or depriving anyone. This just feels so wrong. There's food out there to be found and I can find it without hurting someone else, surely. But I suppose that's the point of all this. That's why Dad sent me here, that's why he told me to take as much as possible. Standing up straight, I heave the bag back onto my shoulder and start walking again. It's a test, I remind myself. A test that I have to pass. People can get by. Humanity always struggles on regardless. And it's not like I took all that much. I couldn't, even if I wanted to. And when Dad asks, I really did want to. "It's fine," I mutter. "It's fine. I can do this."

When I get to the metal door, it immediately swings open for me, like they've been expecting me. The thug that holds it open doesn't say anything to me, and I don't say anything to him. There's no point. I walk straight past him, through the large hall and into Dad's office, where he's waiting for me. He's sitting on the lone office chair, his feet on the table, his jacket hanging on the open door leading to the private rooms, and his gloves lying on the table just by his feet. He looks up at me as I enter, and makes a small motion for me to close the door, so I turn and close the door, then bring the sack over to him for inspection. Slowly bringing his feet down, Dad steeples his fingers and leans forwards to look into the open sack I'm presenting to him. He stays motionless for a few seconds, then leans back in the chair and looks at me curiously. "That's it?" His voice is deadly quiet and I can feel my hands start to shake.

"Yes, Father."

He looks... disappointed? No, not disappointed. Annoyed. "I thought you would do better," he says softly, staring me straight in the eye.

"I tried," I start, somewhat expecting him to cut me off but he sits still and says nothing and I falter, the words just sort of dying in my mouth. "I... I... It was difficult. They didn't have much and it was far and there was only so much I could've carried. And by the time I got this the drivers were beginning to wake up so I had to get out of there, it's not like I had a choice."

Dad raises an eyebrow, making the blackness around his right eye grow. "You mean they're still alive?"

I nod. "Of course, what did you want me to do, kill them?"

"Yes," Dad breathes and I let my head roll back in exasperation.

"Well you could've told me! You said 'steal'. I thought I was supposed to be subtle." Dad folds his arms across his chest and, for whatever reason, the sight frightens me. I can feel my heart start to race and my hands start trembling more violently as he just sits there watching me with this kind of detached disinterest that shakes me to the core. I can feel there's a question coming, something that will frame me as guilty and worthy of punishment, something that will make him hate me, that'll force me to give an answer that'll ruin any hope I ever had of accepting me in. I don't know if I should come clean, or what I should come clean about. Going to meet up with Lonnie? The woman in black who did most of my work for me? Doubting the morality of my actions? What would make him hate me least?

In an instant, Dad's on his feet, the sack kicked halfway across the room as his hands come to rest on either side of my neck. I stare up into his face as he considers mine and I can feel my childhood terror coming back to haunt me as his fingers search for my pulse. As his left hand braces itself against my neck, his right circles round and starts to crush my windpipe and I start to panic, forgetting every little word of encouragement I've whispered to myself and every plan for every situation as my fingers grasp wildly at his arms, trying to pry him away from me. I'm starting to see spots when he lets go and I gasp for air. He leans forwards, his breath tickling my ear, and he whispers "Do you think you can _lie_ to me?"

I shake my head. "No, Father, I didn't-" but his fingers crush my throat again, cutting me off just like I expected him to. I continue to squeeze his arm, if only because it's the only role I know. He lets go after about a minute and again I find myself gasping for air.

"There was a woman," I whisper, my voice hoarse. "She knocked out the drivers, she opened the truck."

"She did your job for you."

"No," I shake my head, "it wasn't like that. She was there just as I arrived-"

"And if you _hadn't_ gone on a stroll through Gotham this morning, you would've got the job done?"

I don't know what to say. He looks down at me expectantly, but I can tell he's not interested in anything I've got to say. There's really no point trying to explain myself, is there? "Yes, Father."

"You made a mistake," he says slowly.

"Yes, Father."

He moves one hand down and presses it against my chest, as he slings his other arm around my shoulders. "That's not going to happen again, is it?"

"No, Father."

His eyes narrow and I can feel the panic starting up again. "And you're no_t_ just _telling_ me what I wan_t_ to hear, are you Andrew?"

"No, no, I mean it. I really do."

"Good." He lets go of me and straightens up, turns and starts to walk away, then pauses. "Oh, and Andrew?"

"Yes, Father?"

He spins round, his hand connecting with my cheek and I stagger back in surprise, my hands moving to cover the stinging skin. Part of me expects him to back off now, he's made his point, but he keeps coming, his arms swinging at me, connecting with the exposed areas and I'm ducking and weaving away from, trying to save myself but also trying not to make him any angrier. He backs me up against the wall and suddenly he's got a crowbar in his hands and I whimper in fear and surprise as he bounces it in his hand, then looks to me. "No," I start to plead. "Please don't." But he doesn't listen and the metal comes crashing down on my outstretched arm. I let out a moan and slide down the wall, moving my arms to cover my head and I can hear him move, feel his shoe on my shoulder, pushing me over and I collapse onto the ground in the foetal position. The crowbar comes down again, this time on my side and I can hear a definite crack and I'm sure that must've been one of my ribs going. I roll a little and this time the crowbar comes down on my back and the pain is intense but I don't have anything left in me. I can't even find the strength to cry anymore.

Dad's shoe is back, rolling me over until I'm on my back and I slowly uncover my head to look up at him. He crouches down beside me, one foot resting on my exposed neck. "You're _mine_," I can hear him growl and I nod fearfully, watching him stamp the crowbar on the ground and lean on it. "We went over this. You do _what_ I say, _when_ I say. You kill who I want killed. No _fucking_ questions asked." He presses down with his foot and it gets harder to breathe again. I whimper and nod but he doesn't let up. "You don't," he continues, "go wandering. Not when you have a job to do." He stands and twists his foot against my throat. "Got it?" I nod again and he removes his foot. I roll onto my stomach and start to pant, pulling my arms beneath me and slowly rising to my knees. Grabbing my hair, Dad hauls me to my feet and pushes me in the direction of the open door. "Get out of here," he says softly and I am more than happy to do that.

* * *

><p>I sit in the corner of the small room Dad has given me, curled up into a ball with my head on my knees. I thought I could do this. I thought I could be strong, I thought I'd be smart. But I'm making all the wrong decisions again. It hurts to breathe. There's blood on my face. I just know I'm bruised all over. This is all so familiar. I know this path. I know what happens next. I thought I'd got out but there's something that just keeps sucking me back in and damnit I <em>want<em> to be here. That's what makes it worst of all. If I didn't have a choice, if I just got trapped here, that'd be another story. But I chose to come back. I didn't have to go to Dad. I knew that. But I did go to him and I did it because I wanted to. And he hurt me, just like I expected him to. Just like I wanted him to. It hurts so much but, at the same time, it feels good. It feels like he's paying attention to me. It shows that he actually knows who the fuck I am. He cares enough about me to want to control me, to hurt me when I disappoint him. He doesn't do that for others. None of the muscle he's got working for him gets this kind of treatment. I'm special because he loves me. He wants me to be better and he's right. He was right to make me hurt. It's the only way to make sure a lesson gets learnt.

But, on the other hand, there is Lonnie. And I don't know what to make of that. I mean, he kissed me. Out of nowhere. I thought he was angry and then he just... he kisses me. Me! And I liked it? I know, I know, it shouldn't be that weird. I mean, I do know that I'm gay. I've known for years. But I've never... done anything. I've never had a boyfriend. I never even kissed a boy. There was just some part of me that knew but I was lazy and busy so I never really bothered. But Lonnie. I never thought of him like that. He was fifteen when I met him, how could I? But now I guess he's eighteen and he is legal and an adult and hell, kinda running small parts of Gotham, but he never gave any signs, he never said anything, he was always just my kid friend and then... I shouldn't be torturing myself about this. It was probably nothing. I mean, we were living together in a tiny room for like a month and a half after he kissed me and nothing happened. He never said anything then and I guess we were just busy but that does sort of seem like the kind of thing you would talk about. You don't just kiss someone and promise to protect them and then never mention it again. Do you? God, I hope he's alright. He's just so stupidly confident about everything. He thinks he can run the world out of sheer willpower alone, that his supposed genius will get him wherever he needs to go. He knows nothing about hard work and slumming it and fighting for every damn thing you have. And if Bane's men did take him, what hope does he really have? Especially if they actually were looking for me... I don't suppose it's entirely ludicrous that Bane could know that the Joker is my father. I mean, all the signs are there. So, if he knows, would Lonnie be safe with him? But then again, it's not like Lonnie would be any safer here. Dad doesn't punish the people he doesn't care about; he just kills them. And Lonnie's not about to take orders from anyone but himself. So, I guess staying away would be the best thing for him to do. Even if that means I won't see him again. I can feel my eyes start to water and that's ridiculous. I shouldn't be crying. There's nothing to cry about. I'm alive, I'm safe, Dad loves me and Bane is going to die. Everything is fine. Except... except for the fact that I might never be allowed to see Lonnie again. And thinking that shouldn't hurt as much as it does. Not if we're just friends. Not if he doesn't mean something more. And is that crazy? What if I'm like Dad? What if I'm only capable of hurting the people I love? I don't want to hurt Lonnie. But what if it's inevitable? What if I just can't help myself? I mean, literally everyone in my life, except for Dad, has died. And it's been my fault. I never knew Mom. My best friend killed herself because I decided to rebel against Dad, who then tortured and forced me to murder my surrogate mother. And that was all on me. All of that happened because of choices I made. I made the wrong choices and the people I loved died so how on earth can I possibly trust myself to be around Lonnie? I'll do something wrong. I'll make the wrong choice and then I'm going to have to stand there and watch him die knowing that it was my fault, knowing that if I'd just left him alone he'd still be alive.

I feel like I'm going to be sick. Getting up, I shuffle over to the dirty mattress that Dad had someone put in here for me. The old thing smells awful, but I'm too tired and sore to care so I just flop down face-first into it. At least it's soft. Curling back into a ball, I start to weigh up my options. I do want to be here; that's true. I want Dad to save me from Bane. I want him to teach me to be stronger. I want him to make Gotham safe for me again. And I want him to love me. But, once Bane is dead and this is all over, I want to leave. I don't want to spend the rest of my life here, with him. I think I do want to be with Lonnie. I at least want to be able to see him without having to worry about his safety, and if I stayed here that's all I would worry about. I don't... I'm not sure how I feel about him. I do like him. A lot. I liked the way it felt when he kissed me and I like what thinking about it does to me. But I am just so afraid of hurting him and I'm not sure I'm willing to risk it. Even if I'm here, trying to get rid of Bane, dealing with the hurt, just so he can be safe.

How do you describe love? How do you know when you're feeling it? I don't think Dad's ever told me he loved me, and if I told people that, they wouldn't be surprised. But, growing up the way I did, it means I just don't know what other people take for granted. And I can recognise that. I know I don't really have an idea on what 'love' is; not like other people. But there's no one I can ask and there's no real way for me to know for sure if what I'm feeling is it or not. At the same time, I'm not sure that it matters. Love, to me, is hurt. It's bruises and cracked ribs and coughing up blood and horrific scars. And that's not what I feel for Lonnie. Not by a long shot. So even if this feeling isn't what other people would call 'love', how bad could it really be?


	12. The Doctor

**The Doctor**

I'm lying on a cold rooftop, beneath a black tarp, my chin on the ledge as I watch the figures gather on the other side of the street. Harley Quinn is lying beside me, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and her finger on the trigger of the rifle she's pointing at the leader of the gang converging below us. We wait a fraction longer, just to see if anyone else is going to appear, but it looks like the figures have got everyone they were expecting and the leader, a man dressed in black with a camo bulletproof vest, turns and starts to lead the group away. I turn to look at Harley just as she squeezes the trigger and there's a crack and when I turn back to the group, the leader's on the ground and his head's been exploded into a pile of red goo. The rest of the group draws their guns as Harley pulls her head and her gun behind the ledge and I pull the tarp over the top of us. I can hear shouting and gunfire but none of it sounds like it's even coming close to where we are and I already know that we got away with it. Dad's been sending us after Bane's lieutenants for a month now and we got all of them just as easy as we got that guy down there.

Harley and I have been spending a lot of time together since that first day. A few hours after he beat me up, Dad sent her in to check on me. She found my rib and we figured it was only a crack and it did get better. But I remember watching her examine me, watching her roll up her sleeves and I could see the bruises. When she got closer to me, I could see the fading cuts just as clearly as she could see mine. I don't know what happened. We used to hate each other. She used to help Dad torture me and I wanted to see her dead. But something changed. She still loves Dad. Of course she does, you can just see it on her face when she looks at him. She idolises him, does whatever he says without question, and he's gentle with her. But only up to a point. But I think she get it. She understands what I feel. She knows that he's hurting her because he loves her and that makes it impossible for her to leave. And, I dunno. Something happened. There was a moment of clear understanding. Of desperation and futility and we both just knew exactly what the other was feeling because we were there ourselves. Does that sound stupid? I suppose it must. But it was there. It happened. And then, for whatever reason, Dad told us to start working together. Probably to keep me on a short leash, cause he knows that he completely owns Harley and she wouldn't let me do anything he didn't want me to do. But we've spent hours together, just sitting together, waiting for the mark to show up. At first neither of us said anything. It felt weird. Like sitting with your worst enemy. But we had a job to do, I guess. And we had to rely on each other when Dad sent us out at night. So, eventually, we started talking. We started to trust each other, just a little bit. And... I dunno. I don't really see Harley the same way anymore. She's not the idiot I thought she was. She's just like me. But different. She's lost so much more than I have but she loves Dad and, to her, that makes it all worthwhile. And I sort of think I can relate.

"We should get moving."

I look over at the spot where Harley's voice came from. "Do you reckon they're gone?"

"Who cares? We've got somewhere to be."

I shrug, despite the fact that I know she can't see me, and I pull back the tarp, raising myself slightly onto my elbows to peer over the ledge. The figures on the street have gone, and they've taken their fallen leader with them. The only thing to indicate that they were ever there to begin with is the giant red puddle on the street and that's just the mark of a job well done. Harley stands up beside me and I scramble to my feet, rolling the tarp into a kind of ball and shoving it into my backpack. I follow Harley to the fire escape stairs on the side of the building, holding her gun for her as she swings over the ledge and passing it back to her when she looks at me expectantly. I kind of want to ask her something, but I feel like even coming close to the subject would be stupid. She wouldn't care. I'd just be annoying her.

We walk together through Gotham, heading towards what was once one of the richer districts. These were the places that were the worst hit when Bane set off those bombs. There are buildings that are completely destroyed, and the rioting masses did the best to destroy what was still standing. The smell is terrible over here, and I can only guess that it's the smell of decomposing corpses that no one bothered to fish out of the rubble. Why would anyone care, anyway? They were only rich leeches. I smile a little at my own bitterness because it makes me think of Lonnie and what he'd say about it. When I'm out at night, I like to think that he might be keeping an eye out for me but, truth be told, I don't even know if he's still alive. Dad hasn't granted me leave to go anywhere without Harley and I'm pretty sure he's expressly forbidden her to let me do anything I wanted to do. So I don't know if Lonnie ever saw my message, or if he even made it back to that apartment. I hope he did. I'd like to think he did. Because, if he didn't, if he's stuck somewhere or... if he's dead... Then I'm doing this for nothing. And, if that were true, I'd just kill myself. The thing about disasters is that you've gotta find some reason to keep going. Otherwise, what's the point?

"Hey, Harley," I whisper and she turns her head to look at me. She's got her rifle resting on her shoulder as she walks and she looks tough enough to keep the roaming gangs of starving citizens away, but there's something about her face and the fact that I can see the fading marks of Dad's love that makes me trust her.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?" She raises an eyebrow, but it's not cruel, not the way Dad does it. She's not saying 'no'. "I..." I let my voice trail off as I try to figure out how I'm going to say this. "Can I ask you something about love?"

"Yeah. It hurts," she says quietly, and she quickens her pace. I hurry to match it.

"That's not really... Well, it kinda is, but that's not... Look, I'm not asking about my Dad. This isn't..." I sigh and grip the straps of my backpack. This is so much harder than I thought it'd be. Every time I even try to start a sentence, there's something inside of me that's stopping me from finishing it. "I think I love someone," I blurt out and I just stop walking at the shock of what I've just said. Harley continues on for a few more steps, then stops and turns back to look at me. I stare at her, my mouth hanging open like an idiot. "I'm sorry. I don't... I just... I don't know what to do."

Harley smiles sadly at me, sicking her free hand in the pocket of her jeans. "Stay away from them," she says. "They're only going to hurt you."

I shake my head hopelessly. "But how do I _know_? He's not like Dad. He's passionate and motivated and he wants the best for everyone and he kissed me, even when I look like this, and every time I think about him I feel sick because I have to stay away to make sure he's ok." Maybe I've said too much, because the smile on Harley's face starts to fade and now she just looks lost.

"What do you mean 'how do you know'?" She says softly. "Kid, you're in love."

"But _how_?"

She slowly walks back towards, looking me in the eye. "You just want to be with him, more than anything, more than life itself. Being apart hurts you. Sometimes he says and does things that make you mad but you're never really mad at him at all, no matter what he does. Whatever he wants to do, however he wants to change the world, you want to be there helping him do it."

I nod. "I guess."

"Then it's love." Harley pulls her hand from her pocket and starts to bring it to her face before she catches herself and presses her arm against her stomach instead. "It's love and it's gonna suck."

"But love's not supposed to suck! It's supposed to lift you up, give you wings. When you're in love you're supposed to be able to do anything, to be anything. Love makes you feel good and happy and alive. I don't feel any of that."

Harley smiles and I start to feel very self-conscious. "You have got to stop watching romantic comedies. Life's not like that. Love's not like that."

I shake my head hopelessly, pressing my left hand against my cheek, feeling the scar beneath my fingers. "But how can so many people be wrong about that?"

"Because people are stupid." Harley sighs and motions for me to follow her over to the benches overlooking the river. She sits down on the closest one and, after a moment's hesitation, I sit down beside her. Propping the gun against her thigh, she brings her leg up beneath her and turns to look at me. "Look at the divorce rate. It's huge. Half of the people that get married think that love's going to be just what you described and, when it's not, they call it quits because they realised they were never really in love with each other in the first place."

"You're wrong," I whisper and she smiles knowingly.

"Love hurts."

"It's not supposed to."

"But it does anyway. It hurts, even when it's good." She pauses, and looks out at the frozen river. "Especially when it's good. You know nothing comes easy. I can't see how this'd be a surprise for you."

"But I've never known love," I insist and she turns back to look at me again. "Not like other people do. Not like Lonnie does. He can be so sure of his feelings because they're normal. He knows how to feel, he has names for his emotions." I hesitate, wondering whether I should go on but I guess I'm in too deep to stop now. Somehow, I don't think she'll tell Dad about this conversation. "Dad's never told me he loved me."

Harley shakes her head sympathetically. "That doesn't mean he doesn't."

"He's broken bones," I insist. "Cut me open. Tortured my friends." My voice starts to crack. "Made me kill them. That's love! To me, that's it! And I don't want to do that to Lonnie!" Harley reaches forwards and takes my hand and such a large part of me wants to yank it away. I can still remember her mocking voice, the way she threatened me just after I'd watched my best friend jump to her death. And maybe we're different now. Maybe now we have a connection. But it still hurts and there's still a small part of me that hates her for what she did, even if she was just another victim.

"The way he loves," she says slowly, as if she's considering her words carefully, "it's different to other people. He's not like other people. He's chaos and fear but he's fair. You get what you deserve. He's shaped you into a better person. You can see that, can't you?"

I nod because I can. I know what she's saying. I've told it to myself. "Am I like him? Do I have to be?"

"Not if you don't want to."

"I can't."

"Then don't. If you think you love this boy, then you probably do. Just because it's not what you're used to doesn't make it wrong. It just means you're going to have to learn the rules."

"And what if I can't? What if I'm broken?"

"Then, if he loves you, he'll learn your rules."

"You make it sound so simple," I scoff as I pull my hand from hers.

"It is. Love is easy. But only when you learn to accept that it's never going to stop hurting. The love you feel just makes the hurt worthwhile."

"Is it, though?" Maybe asking is cruel, but part of me just has to know. "Do you think it's worthwhile? I never had a choice. I never gave anything up for this. This is my lot and I'm learning to live with it but you never had to. This is on you."

Harley shrugs, and it almost looks like she's sad. "It was so easy at first. He was smart and funny and charismatic. He made me want to be something more. And, in the beginning, even when it hurt it felt good. I think you know what I'm talking about. I almost wanted to hurt, just so I could feel something. I still do. It's worthwhile. It's what I wanted."

"I want to be with Lonnie," I say quietly and she looks torn.

"You know I can't let you go."

"I know."

"But I do want to help you."

"You can't. He'll know."

Harley nods. "I know. But we could..." Her voice trails off and I'm not sure if she's just thinking of a plan or if the conversation is over. After a moment, she looks up at me and smiles and I don't know why but a very small part of me thinks about how nice it is to see her smile without that sadness behind her eyes. "You can't go find him but what if we let him find you?"

"But how-"

"Shhh, no questions. I'm still thinking of a plan. But I think it's possible. It's not breaking any rules and..." She nods enthusiastically. "I think it'd be alright."

I look at her in stunned disbelief. I don't understand her. I've seen her kill people without a second thought, mocking them as they writhed and here she is now, grinning at me with a real, genuine smile. "Why?" I hear myself asking quietly because it's the only thing I can think to say.

And with that, something changes inside her. Her smile drops and she nods once, stiffly, then stands and repositions her rifle on her shoulder. "We have to go," she says in a distant voice and I just want to know what I did to lose her but she's gone now and there's no real point in asking, so I stand and fall into place beside her as we walk along the riverside to the next mark.

We've been walking for a bit in silence when I start to notice the shuffling of feet coming from behind us. I'm not entirely sure that Harley's heard it because she doesn't seem to be reacting to it. "One second," I say quietly and I turn, pulling my handgun from the holster beneath my jacket and levelling it at the approaching figure. It's a man. Homeless, by the look and smell, and he just looks like he's shuffling along minding his own business but something in me knows better than that. That shuffling has been going on too long. I fire two shots in quick succession; one hits his arm and the other manages to get him in the chest. I'm no marksman, not like Harley, but she's been teaching me and I am better than I was. The man goes down and I approach him cautiously. I can still see him breathing and he's moving so I move faster and, pressing the muzzle of the gun against his forehead, I squeeze the trigger and his brains explode across my shoes. Wiping the blood off the gun with my jacket, I turn to look at Harley watching me. She looks confused, and maybe just a little worried but the expression drops quickly from her face and she waves me forwards and we start walking again.

"I'm not sure you had to do that," she says after about a minute or so.

"Does it matter?"

"Not really. But I thought it did to you."

I sigh because she's right. I'm not really sure what possessed me to kill him. He could've been harmless. But still, something inside me told me he wasn't and, at the end of the day, I'm operating for my own survival. That's got to be the ultimate goal at the end of all this, it's got to be the thing that's driving me. If I survive, I get to see Lonnie again. I get to be free and to make my own choices and to leave or live in this city as I choose. And that's got to be worth fighting for. In a way, that's what I've always been fighting for, isn't it? And, in a way, I think Harley's been doing the same thing. Maybe we're really not all that different. Maybe, just maybe, I can see myself in what she says.

The next mark's less about Bane and more about getting even for Dad. What with Bane's freeing all the prisoners of Blackgate the day the bombs went off, a lot of very disgruntled mob bosses got let out and Dad's heard that one or two of them are trying to get a hold on Gotham again. So Harley and I are here to show them that it's still Dad's city, despite what the media tells us. It's supposed to be easy work, according to Dad, but I kinda doubt it. I just hope I don't get killed cause of this.

Harley walks up to the door of the building and raps on it with the butt of her rifle. I stand a little way behind her, my gun beneath my jacket and my hand in my pocket gripping my knife tight. It takes a little while for the door to open a fraction but when it does, even I can hear the thick accent calling out "Who's there?"

"Room service!" Harley says brightly, swinging the rifle up through the crack in the door and pressing it against the man's nose. "Now are ya gonna let us in or is this gonna be maid service as well?"

There's a pause for a fraction of a second, and then the door swings open and the frightened guy steps out of the way. I come forwards, sticking close to Harley as I follow her inside. She's the negotiator, I'm the muscle watching her back. That's the plan. That's what we decided on. Besides, with my scars, I look a hell of a lot more intimidating than I sound.

We walk through the lower floor of the building until we reach the stairs and there's a bunch of men in cheap, dirty suits just standing around who look really fucking surprised when Harley waltzes past them with her rifle on her shoulder. The fact that no one's even produced a gun this far makes me think that Dad and Bane might be the only ones in the city fully armed, and so maybe this whole 'threaten the Mob' plan might just turn out alright.

The second floor of the building is better lit and Harley finds who she's looking for in the first room she stops to check. She's been here before. As we enter the room, a thin man in an ill-fitting suit and small round glasses stands and looks at Harley expectantly. I stand by the door, my back against the wall and my hands in my pockets, ready to help if Harley needs it but somehow I doubt she will. "Berty!" She sings as she approaches him and he looks annoyed at how close she's gotten to him.

"Alberto, Miss Quinzel..."

Harley throws me an exasperated look over her shoulder before turning her attention back to Alberto. "I've told you Berty, call me Harley. It's ok, everyone does."

"What do you want this time?"

"Well, you see," Harley begins, moving past Alberto to sit on the edge of the table he was previously sitting at, "Mistah J's heard some nasty things about what you and your boys have been getting up to."

Alberto keeps his attention focused on me for a moment, probably taking in my scars, which probably look a fuckload more intimidating in this weird light, then turns to look at Harley. "He knows full well that we haven't been doing anything." He crosses his arms and Harley smiles indulgently. "We can't do anything; we have no firepower."

"Ah, but that's not what Mistah J's accusing you of." Harley leans forwards, resting her arm on Alberto's skinny shoulder. "He's not worried about you getting guns. But you seem to be forgetting that you and your men work for Mistah J. So we don't go around looking for contacts of our own, remember?"

"Actually," he says stiffly, shrugging off her arm, "Maroni 's men work for Joker. The Falcone family does not."

Harley shrugs. "It's the same diff," she says. "Don't you go thinking you're a free man cause you're not. Say the word and Mistah J'll come down here himself and sort you out, and take it from Chuckles over there, ya don't want that." Alberto looks over his shoulder at me and I do my best to keep my face expressionless and my posture relaxed. I can see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "We had a bit of a disagreement, didn't we?" Harley says loudly, giving me a smile and a wink. "But now we see Mistah J's side, don't we?" She gives me a big smile and points to her mouth so I smile at the thin man without changing my expression and I never knew I could inspire that kind of fear in a person. He looks like he's going to wet himself.

"Alright," he says quickly, turning to look back at Harley. "I get it. I work for the Joker. But..." He shakes his head. "He's gotta help us. We can't defend ourselves against the masked man's men, not when they've got machine guns and tanks and we're armed with baseball bats."

Leaning forwards, Harley pats Alberto sympathetically on the shoulder. "Tell ya what," she says. "I'll ask Mistah J if he can do anything to help you, on accounta you've been so helpful to us." He nods fearfully and Harley jumps down off the table, picks up her rifle and walks out the door. I turn to follow her, and I can hear him sigh loudly.


	13. Finding the Enemy

**Finding the Enemy**

It feels weird to admit it, but I've almost come to consider life with Dad as normal. Of course, it's still the same as ever. Sometimes I fuck up and he really lets me know it. Sometimes I do things just right and the hurt he gives me feels congratulatory. Really, Harley's made me see any kind of punishment he gives me as a sign that he does still care. Like acceptance. Like love. And at the end of the day, that's really what I wanted from here. But another month has gone by and I still haven't seen Lonnie, or even been given permission to go out by myself. Part of me thinks that maybe Dad just doesn't realise what keeping me locked up is doing, but the rest of me knows too well. I remember this from back when I was a kid. Keeping me locked up and isolated makes me need him, makes me dependent on him for comfort and companionship and he knows that. Of course he does. He's not stupid. Sometimes I just try to forget how much he knows about me. But he made one mistake in pairing me with Harley. I wouldn't call us friends. Not by a long shot. But we are getting friendlier. That talk we had, all those jobs he's got us running around doing, that's just making me need her, making me rely on her just as much as I would him. And she's in the same position I am so I know I can trust her. She helps me when Dad goes too hard on me and I can't stop the bleeding or I think I've broken something. She's not a proper medicine doctor, but she does know her first aid, and it gives us more time to talk. In a way, it makes everything seem better. Dad hurts because love hurts, and Harley's there when it's over to whisper encouragements and remind me that it's love I'm feeling. I owe her a lot. I'm not sure I would've made it this far if it weren't for her.

Tonight Dad's got us out tracking a few of Alberto's men. He sent them a couple of guns, just like Harley promised he would, and now we're supposed to make sure they're using them for the right reasons. And if they're not? We make examples of them. We rub Alberto's face in it. We teach him a lesson. And then we bring him to Dad and we get to watch. And I know it's a terrible thing, but part of me really hopes that the weedy little man's fucked up and I get to beat the crap out of him because I have been itching to hit something for a long time.

Harley stands on the edge of the roof, looking out over the streets. I stand over in the middle of the roof. There's one more mission we've got tonight. Harley came through, just like she said she would. She told me tonight, when we were leaving the hideout. Had us stop by some old hardware store and showed me the cans of red spray-paint she'd found for me. "We'll tag the rooftops," she said as she handed me the cans. "If he's jumping across rooftops being a vigilante just like you said, then if we start tagging the roofs he's running across he's going to want to find out who's doing it. He'll come to you!" So I've got spray-paint in my backpack and a can in my hand and I've just finished spraying the anarchist A on the rooftop. This is such a good idea. Like what I did at the second apartment, but bigger. A huge sign on Gotham to let Lonnie know that I'm still alive and I am looking for him, even though I'm not allowed to.

Harley hisses my name and I turn and jog over towards her. She points down at a group of men moving through the streets. By the looks of it, they're all carrying guns and they're wearing suits so they've got to be Falcone's men. Bane never sends his men out so poorly equipped. We stand on the corner of the rooftop looking down at them until they pass out of sight and Harley turns to look at me. "I'll go after them," I say in response to the question I know she's going to ask. Tossing the almost empty spray can to her, I turn and take a running start, jumping across the narrow gap between the buildings and bashing my knees on the brickwork as I land. It hurts, but so what? I get up and head over to the stairs we came up. From here I can see the men knocking on a nondescript door and, after a minute or two, the door opens to reveal a short, fat man wearing a monocle. I squint a little, but yeah. For sure. The fat guy's wearing a monocle. Of all the fucking things... The fat guy lets them in, then looks around suspiciously. I duck down, pressing my stomach against the floor grate but I don't think he spots me, cause he closes the door pretty quickly. As I slowly climb to my feet, Harley trots over and looks at me expectantly. "They knocked on the door down there and some fat guy wearing a monocle let them in."

"A monocle?"

"I know, right?" I cross my arms as Harley stares down at the door. "So now what do we do?"

Sitting down on the edge of the roof, Harley rests her rifle across her knees and looks up at me. "I'm gonna wait here til they come back out and I guess you'll just have to get on with our other mission without me."

I let her words sink in for a moment, just to be sure I heard her correctly. "So I'm leaving you here."

"Sure. Unless you don't want to."

"No, it sounds like a good plan," I say and she gives me a knowing smile.

"Just don't get lost," she says quietly. "Or be too long. Otherwise it'll be fine."

I don't stop to think about or question it; I just nod to Harley and run down the fire escape stairs. This is freedom. I can't believe it but here it is. I reach the ground and quickly pull out a spray can from my bag and tag the side of the building, then I start running. The Narrows isn't too far from where we are, and Lonnie might have left me a message. I've got to check. I keep moving as fast as I can, occasionally stopping to spray the A on the sides of buildings, but I'm more focused on getting back to that apartment. It's the middle of the day. Lonnie won't be around for hours yet, but there could be something to help me find him. He could even be at the second apartment. But I won't even begin to hope that's the case. No point in getting my hopes up for the impossible, right?

Running across the bridge to the Narrows, I sort of feel like I'm being watched. But I can't see anyone and it doesn't matter, does it? I'm just scared, jumpy cause I know what'll happen if Dad finds out I'm out here by myself. Harley'll be in so much trouble. I don't want to be the reason he hurts her. The feeling sort of goes by the time I get to the apartment building and I head inside, running up the stairs two at a time until I'm standing in front of the door and my palms are sweaty. Taking hold of the doorknob, I open the door and there's a gun pointed at my face.

"Andrew?"

I recognise that voice. The gun moves slightly and I look behind it and I can see Lonnie standing there staring at me and I don't know what's come over me but I feel sick with relief and I drop my bag and launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and hugging him as tightly as I can. He stands still for a moment, then returns the hug, squeezing me just as tightly as I'm squeezing him. I bury my face into his neck and I can feel his head resting against mine and I don't even know what it is about this moment but I just feel safe. Like everything's going to be ok. I have no idea how long we stand there hugging, but eventually I unlock my arms with great reluctance and Lonnie lets me go and we stand toe to toe, just looking at each other.

"I thought you were dead," I say quietly. "I came here, but you never..."

Lonnie shakes his head. "Bane made me stay with his men, working with them. I haven't been allowed to leave."

"Dad's got me on a short leash too."

"You went back to him?"

"Where else could I have gone?"

"I know..." Lonnie looks sad and it kills me a little inside. "Are you alright?"

I shrug. "I'm alive. And he trusts me. He's teaching me to be stronger..." I let my voice trail off at the look on Lonnie's face. "What about you? Has Bane done anything...?"

"Nah." He has this kind of haunted expression and he crosses his arms across his chest. "He just works with intimidation. He, uh, he needs his army in good condition, y'know? But... He's killed men. Snapped their necks, shot them, crushed their skulls." Pursing his lips, Lonnie shakes his head. "He's a monster."

"Hey," I whisper, reaching forwards and taking his hand. "It's alright. You're out now, we've found each other. I'll be ok."

"I have to go back. He'll come looking for me. But you could get away. You could hide here. I don't think they know about this place yet."

I shake my head. "Dad'll find me. I'm not supposed to be out by myself. Harley let me go, just so long as I came back quickly."

Lonnie looks like he's about to cry. "I thought they'd killed you," he whispers in a voice so choked I can barely hear him. "I couldn't leave and they way they talked, they made it sound so..." His lip trembles a little and I don't know what to do so I pull him into another hug. This time he rests his head on my shoulder and he wraps his arms around my neck and I can hear him start to cry as I rub his back. I'm not sure what I expected would happen. But not this. I thought he was stronger than me. I thought he'd be alright.

"We'll figure this out," I murmur and I can feel him nod his head. "We will. Dad's working to bring down Bane and he's making me stronger, so I'll be able to get away soon. Once Bane's dead, we'll be alright. We'll be free. We could leave this fucking city behind us. Go somewhere with a lower crime rate."

I can hear Lonnie sniff as he lets go of me and straightens up. "We should go. They'll come looking." I nod and, without really thinking about what I'm doing, I reach forwards and take Lonnie's face in my hands, pulling him down to my level. My heart starts to race and my gut's twisting itself into knots and I'm starting to doubt myself when Lonnie's arms snake round my waist and he pulls me towards him until we're pressing against each other, our noses almost touching. His eyes are so blue in this light and when he looks me in the eye my legs turn to jelly. Our noses bump as I lean in and press my lips against his, feeling his warmth as his lips move in response to mine. His arms tighten around me as my hands slip down around his neck and I can feel his breath as our lips break apart slightly and then he bites my lower lip, gently pulling me back in. I close my eyes as our lips lock and I focus on this sensation, trying to remember every detail. I don't want to forget anything about this moment. We break apart and I exhale heavily, opening my eyes to look up at him. "Fuck me," I breathe, grinning.

"Not now," Lonnie says and he smiles at me.

"We need to go."

"Yeah."

We stand wrapped in each other's arms for a moment longer. "I don't want to go," I say quietly, letting my arms drop from his shoulders. "If I leave you now, you might go and get yourself killed."

Lonnie laughs a little, his arms still around my waist. "Yeah, and you're so safe with the fucking Joker and his psycho girlfriend."

"Harley's not so bad," I say quietly. We stand for a moment longer, but we really do have to go. "Come on." I push Lonnie away and turn to get my bag. "We might as well go while they still value our lives."

"If you say so." Lonnie moves in front of me to get the door, holding it open for me. I sling the backpack onto my shoulder and move towards him, my hand brushing his ass as I move past and I can see him grin out of the corner of my eye. Maybe... Oh, fuck thinking about this, it's great. That was great. That was amazing. I think I'd be happy doing that for the rest of my life. Lonnie follows me out of the apartment, pushing me forwards with his hand in the small of my back. And I'm going to sound so stupid just thinking this, but the physical contact is amazing. After months of only being touched when being punished, this gentle, loving touch is a fucking thrill, and I swear to god if I could stay here all day I would. I just want to wrap myself around him and not let go, just do I can always feel this good.

We walk down the stairs together and stop at the front door. Lonnie looks down at me and I shrug. "Don't die on me, alright?" He smiles, but I shake my head. "No, I fucking mean it. You can't die."

"I'll tell Bane. 'Sorry Sir, you can't kill me, my boyfriend says you're not to'." I'm a little taken aback and Lonnie seems to have just realised exactly what it was he said because his mouth clamps shut and he turns bright red. "I didn't mean," he mutters. "That is, like, I mean it's..."

"Awesome." Lonnie starts to smile but his blush isn't going away. I affectionately punch him on the arm. "You tell him that, ya giant homo."

"Fuck you," he hisses and it's my turn to grin.

"Next time."

"Promise?"

"That there'll be a next time, or...?"

Lonnie shrugs. "Both?"

I nod. "I promise. We can figure something out. Find some way to communicate, figure out some way to get some time to ourselves. We can make this work."

"Sure."

Smiling, I take Lonnie's hand and give it a gentle squeeze. "Thanks." I let go and walk out the door, not looking back because that would only make it that much harder. Don't think about it. I start to run. I'm not sure how long it's been. Couldn't have been that long, but I can't keep Harley waiting. She'll have to go back to Dad sooner or later and I have to be with her when she does.

When I get back to the spot where I last saw her, she's still sitting there on the ledge, her legs crossed, her rifle in her lap, and her chin propped up on her hand. She looks the picture of boredom. "Having fun?" I ask as I reach the top of the fire escape stairs. She turns and looks at me with a wicked smile.

"Loads. What about you? You were gone a while?" Harley grins knowingly at me and I can't help it. I want to tell her what happened.

"I found him," I say as I climb up onto the roof. "He was there hoping I'd show up. Bane had caught him or something, was making him work with his roaming gangs. He only just managed to get away for an hour or so."

"Yeah, yeah," Harley says, waving away the details. "I don't really care about that crap. What happened?"

"Oh." I look down at my hands and I smile at the memory. "We kissed."

"And?"

"I... I don't know? We're going to try-"

"Is he _the one_?" I look up at the excitement in Harley's voice. She's turned completely around, giving me her full attention. "Did you hear bells? Was it magic? Did you just stand there holding each other for ages because you fit so well in each other's arms?" She sighs and sways a little, smiling all the while.

My cheeks are going red and I'm finding it hard to remember. "I don't really... I guess it was kinda like that? We didn't want to leave and we hugged for a long time and I really, really didn't want to come back at all, but I don't know. It wasn't really like that, I think. It was just... It was nice. Really nice. I liked it. It felt good."

"Did it feel right?"

I think about that for a moment. "Yeah, I guess it did."

Harley sighs again and shakes her head dramatically. "First love," she says in an almost sing-song kind of voice. "How romantic."

"It's not really like that," I try to explain, but I can tell she's not listening to me anymore.

Behind her on the street below, the large metal door opens and the men I saw enter the building are now leaving. I grab Harley's shoulder and pull her down off the ledge, covering her mouth with my free hand. She looks mad, then turns to see what I'm looking at and grabs her rifle. The men walk through the alley without looking up at us, and we follow across the rooftop. "Bet they're heading back to Berty's," Harley mutters, swinging her rifle onto her shoulder. "Come on."

We head through the city the long way, taking care to avoid the main streets and the spots where we know Bane's men gather. It feels oddly natural to be moving through Gotham like this. We have purpose, we have power and, I don't know, it kinda feels like the role I was meant to play. But it's not the role I want to play. At moments like this, I do know what Dad's talking about. I could be his heir. I could learn so much and I'm so broken inside I could make it work, but that's not what I want. I could do it. But I won't. I know why his mad about it, but I can't help it. It's not who I want to be. Perhaps this is what Lucifer felt before he fell...

When we get to the building, Harley kicks in the door and barges inside. A man turns and approaches her and she raises her hand and I draw my pistol and fire. I've been practising and he goes down in an instant. We step over his body and go up the stairs, looking for Alberto Falcone. I find him first and whip my gun up, pointing it straight at his face. He goes white and I wish I could say that part of me felt sorry for him, but I don't. This is his fault. "Harley," I call out, and he purses his lips and looks like he's accepted his fate. Harley appears at my side, lingers for a moment, then passes her gun to me and struts towards Alberto. He flinches away from her as she approaches but he has nowhere to go and we all know it. She presses a finger into the middle of his chest, pushing him backwards and into a chair. I turn and close the door behind us, using a chair to keep it closed.

"I think you know why we're here, Berty."

"I didn't do anything," he snaps and I turn in time to see Harley backhands him across the face.

"Come on," she coos. "Don't like to me. I'm not nearly as stupid as I look." He looks away from her and shakes his head. Harley sighs. "Don't make me call Chuckles over." He doesn't respond, and Harley looks up at me. "Be a dear and make the good man talk, will ya?"

I slide my pistol into its holster and pass Harley's rifle back to her. "It'd be my pleasure," I mutter, cracking my knuckles with a loud pop that makes the weedy little man flinch. He makes a point of looking away from me as I approach, but even in this light I can see his eyes flick to my face. I know he's looking at my scars. I reach into my pocket and pull out my knife, holding it loosely in my left hand. He doesn't look to it and I don't really want him to. Not yet, anyway. As I get closer his eyes flick away again and I don't hold back, I punch him in the face and he rocks back in his chair, his hand springing to cover his nose. I can smell blood. That was easier than I thought. I bring the blade up to the level of his eyes, waving it slightly until I can see his eyes following it. I lean forwards, my hand resting on the wall behind him and the knife pointing at his right eye.

"You wouldn't", he whispers, and I can see the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. He brings his hand down and I can see a faint trickle of blood seeping down from his left nostril. I am going to make him hurt so bad...

I bring the knife forwards, touching the tip against the lens of his glasses and I twist it until I can hear a horrible scraping noise. "I would fucking _love_ to," I whisper, and he looks like he's about to wet himself. I pull the knife back and take off his glasses, throwing them to the side. "Now, what was it Miss Quinn was asking you?"

"I didn't-"

"I would like to remind you," I interrupt, "that I really fucking enjoy watching weedy little cunts like you cry, so make this good."

His lip starts to tremble and I smile. "I'm just trying to organise something with Cobblepot," he whines. "It's nothing bad. It would be in the Joker's best interests."

"I'm not sure that's for you to decide."

"But it would be," Alberto insists and I want to hit him.

"Shut him up," Harley says from the other side of the room and I'm so glad she gave me permission.

I stab the blade into Alberto's thigh and he screams like a bitch, his hands frozen like claws around the handle but not actually touching it. I reach forwards and grab him by the throat, pressing his head back against the wall as I start to punch him. After the forth blow connects, I can feel his nose break and blood's spurting out more violently before. His screaming's sort of faded to a low moaning and I tighten my grip on his throat until all I can hear is a frightened, panicked wheezing. His hands reach up and grab my wrist, feebly attempting to pull me off him but I'm too strong, and... Suddenly familiarity hits me and I can remember this, I can see it all happening but from the other side. I remember grabbing Dad's arms in a desperate attempt to make him stop. I can remember what it felt like the first time he broke my nose. My grip on his throat immediately relaxes and I want to run away but I know I can't do that. I've got to save face. I've got to be strong; I've got to make Harley and Dad think I can do this.

Alberto whimpers once, then his head lolls back I think he's passed out. Harley comes up to stand beside me, reaching forward to find the pulse in his neck. "He's out cold," she says, then turns her head to look at me. "That was great. Mistah J'll be thrilled." I nod numbly and she straightens up. "You'll be right to carry him back yeah?"

"Sure."

"Great!" Harley disappears from my line of sight and I'm left confronting the evidence of what I just did to someone. I did this to another person. I feel sick. Pulling the knife from his thigh, I wipe the blood off and stick it back in my pocket, then grab him by the shirt and pull him forwards onto my shoulder. Harley's behind me, pulling Berty round til his left arm's hanging over one shoulder and his left leg's hanging over the other. This is alright. I should be able to carry him like this. "Come on," Harley says and I turn and follow her out of the building. I try not to think about what I just did, but his blood is running down my shoulder.


	14. Learn From the Master

**Learn From the Master**

Alberto sits strapped to a wooden chair in a tiny concrete room, his back against the wall and his head resting on his shoulders. He never woke up, but I watched Harley assure Dad that he was still alive, so that's gotta mean something, right? I'm not... I'm not a murderer. Not yet, anyway. Not if he wakes up. And he should wake up. He has to wake up. Dad's not going to start until he wakes up. And, if he doesn't? Then I'm a murderer and Dad'll make me pay. And I'm not sure what I'm more afraid of.

Harley and I are sitting on a table pushed against the opposite wall. There's another table to the left, on the other side of the door, and Dad's leaning over it, inspecting the array of knives Harley put there. Both his jackets are thrown over a spare chair in the corner and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He took his gloves off as soon as he entered the room, throwing them in my direction and I'm still holding them cause he never told me what he wanted me to do with them. Dad hasn't said anything since he entered and that frightens me. I'm glad I'm not going to be on the receiving end of this because he looks like murder.

There's a soft groaning noise and the three of us look up at Alberto as he rolls his head back and sits blinking in the harsh fluorescent light. He looks completely out of it, and I can't say that I blame him at all. My eyes flick to Dad and I can see him grin like some kind of predatory animal and my blood runs cold. I shuffle back onto the table and try to make myself small, trying to escape his notice because that look is dangerous. I've seen it before and that never ends well. Alberto, on the other hand, doesn't seem to have noticed exactly where he is or who he's with; he's just sitting there looking dazed and confused and I feel so guilty for putting him in the position. He's going to die tonight. Dad wouldn't look at him like that otherwise. I brought this man to his death and now I have to sit here and watch it and all so I could save my own stupid skin. But, Lonnie's as well, I suppose. I let my mind wander back to that one happy moment, that one perfectly wonderful moment in my life and I have my purpose. I would kill to keep that moment possible. I would. So if skinny little Mob boss wannabes have to die, so be it. It may tear me up inside and I might end up hating myself for it but it would be worth it.

Dad turns back towards the table and selects his knife, then starts strolling towards Alberto. From where I'm sitting, I can see his face perfectly as he stares around blankly, and I could tell the exact second his senses came back to him as he locked eyes upon the Joker. It's almost funny, in a tragic kind of way. I bet Dad's grinning; showing all his teeth like a hungry animal. Alberto's gone pale and, from the growing stain on his trousers, I'd say he's wet himself. I don't blame him for that. Dad's terrifying, especially when you don't know him. I can hear Dad start to chuckle, low and deep, and he reaches Alberto and leans down til they're face to face and I can the skinny man whimpering. "You thought you'd _lie_ to me." Dad doesn't phrase that as a question but I can still see Alberto shaking his head. "No," Dad says softly, reaching out and grabbing his face. "You... misunderstand me. I know what you've been doing. I know _exactly_ how bad your betrayal is. You have _no _secrets from me."

"It was Cobblepot," Alberto says weakly, and part of me is expecting to hear Dad cut him off, but that never comes. All I can hear is Alberto's frantic breathing. "He came to me. Told me how we could make a lot of money in Gotham. That he knew someone who knew someone who could get us access to guns. The kind of assault weaponry that Bane as. I was doing this for you. To help your cause."

A silence falls over the room, and then Dad starts to laugh. I get goose bumps at the sound and cross my arms across my chest as he rocks backwards on his heels and throws his head back and roars at the ceiling. "Don't," he growls, bringing himself back down to Alberto's level in an instant. "_Lie_. To. _Me_." He moves his hand and Alberto starts making a kind of whimpering, whining noise and I can only guess that Dad's started to cut into him. "I am... no_t_ happy. Y'see, I own this town." He straightens up slightly and indicates to himself with both hands; one clean hand and the other holding a knife and covered in blood. "All the men you can find; they belong to me. The guns? They're mine. So, when little men think they can just step in and start running _my city_ from under _my feet_, I get a little _mad_." His voice is getting louder until he's almost screaming and I know it's for effect but I'm still terrified. I think Alberto goes to say something, but Dad shakes his head and his hand shoots out and covers his mouth. "I think we've had enough of your explanations," he says, and beckons to us over his shoulder with his knife. I don't know what to do, or if I should be doing anything at all, but Harley jumps off the table immediately and runs to his side. He seems satisfied with that, so I just stay put. Harley moves round Alberto, getting behind him and holding his head back as Dad forces open his mouth. "Andrew," he barks, and I leap off the table, dropping the gloves onto it as I run to his side. He doesn't tell me to do anything, so I just stand beside him, watching as Harley forces Alberto's mouth to stay open and Dad reaches his fingers inside, pulling out his tongue as far as it will go. I know where this is going and I don't want to be here, I don't want to look but they're both standing so close and they can't see me not looking, so I watch as Dad takes Alberto's writhing tongue in between two of his fingers, then draws the knife across it. A thick red line bubbles up out of the wet pink mass and then Dad starts hacking away as Alberto screams and wrestles with him and Harley until Dad has a bloody wet mass in his hands and blood is pouring down Alberto's chin. I want to gag but I know I can't, so I bite my lip and try not to think about what I just watched.

Harley lets go of Alberto's head and, stepping round the chair, takes me by the arm and leads me back to the table. Dad doesn't say anything so I don't resist, thankful for the comfort of the distance between me and them. Tossing the tongue over into the corner of the room, Dad wipes his hand on Alberto's shirt before turning and heading back to his table full of knives. Alberto's moaning is starting to die off and I think we might be losing him already and I'm not sure why but I don't want it to be over yet. I don't want to watch this happening to him, but I don't want him to be dead either.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Dad pick up a crowbar and a vegetable peeler and I start to feel very sick. I can't even tell if Alberto's aware of what's happening anymore but he's not reacting as Dad approaches with his new weapons so I kinda doubt it? I'm not even sure if it matters.

Dad tucks the peeler into the pocket of his vest and raises the crowbar, bringing it down on Alberto's shoulders with a crack and sending him onto the floor. He doesn't relent like he did with me, bringing the crowbar down again and again until the wood's splintering and I can see bone poking through the Alberto's ripped clothes. He's stopped moaning and I think maybe he's passed out. He's not dead. Not yet. I can still see his chest rising and falling but I know it can't be long. Dad doesn't let up until it looks like he's broken every bone in the guy's body, and then he throws the crowbar away and squats down over him, drawing the peeler from the pocket and raising Alberto's head. I watch in horror as Dad peels the skin from Alberto's face. I never knew that was possible, or that anyone could have that happen to them and still be alive, but Alberto's still breathing, even if he's not responding anymore. But as Dad tosses away a bloody lump, I know it's already over. He's dead, even if his body doesn't know it yet. I want to turn away, to get up and just leave but I know I can't. I know I'm trapped here until Dad says the word. And right now he's too busy peeling off bits of Alberto to dismiss me. So I sit and I watch and I feel sick but I do watch. I do see what he's doing. I'm learning. I'm learning about him as I'm learning how to torture someone to death. Very productive.

I have no idea how long we've been sitting here. Alberto's nothing more than blood and guts now, and most of him is strewn around the room. The floor is covered in his blood, almost an inch think in parts and I had no idea there was that much blood in a human body. Dad's still squatting over the corpse, but he finally looks up, pauses, then looks over his shoulder at us. "Get his men in here," he says as he stands. Harley gets to her feet and leaves the room, but Dad didn't expressly tell me to go so I stay put. He walks back to his table and grabs a towel, wiping the blood off his hands as he watches me. "What do you think?" He says slowly. I nod.

"I learnt a lot." He raises an eyebrow. "I did," I insist. "I never knew you could... peel someone's skin off."

Dad nods and looks back down at his table with a kind of fondness that makes my heart ache. He's looking at those knives like they're his children, but when he looks at me it's like he's looking at something disgusting he's stepped in. Honestly, I don't know what I wouldn't give to receive that kind of look from him. I've even seen him look like that at Harley once or twice. I guess you've got to earn it. And I'm here and I'm trying so I guess it could happen one day. Not that I really have my hopes up. It'll never happen and I know that. I'm not the son he wanted.

Harley comes back into the room, leading a bunch of Dad's thugs who are escorting men in dirty suits with bags over their heads. One by one the thugs get Alberto's men to kneel in the blood in the middle of the room and Dad ignores them, busy packing up his table and giving things to Harley to take out of the room. Eventually, Dad turns to look at the men kneeling in front of them and, at a wave of his hand, his thugs remove the bags from the heads of the men in suits. Their reactions are... Well, I probably shouldn't think so, but they're fascinating. Two throw up almost immediately, one gasps and squeezes his eyes shut, three are gritting their teeth and staring straight ahead, and the last one is swaying slightly like he's about to faint. Where did Alberto find these wimps? I had more balls then most of them as a teenager.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Dad begins, crossing his arms behind his back as he looks down at them. "You may remember me as your boss." He points to the bloody mess that was Alberto Falcone. "You may remember _that _man as your boss. As only one of us is still alive, I think you can figure out who you actually listen to. Got it?" The men nod quickly, seemingly eager to please and I do feel for them. They have no idea. Dad nods to himself, and begins to pace in front of them. "While it's true that you work for me, I'm so very... _disappointed_ that so many of you betrayed me." He stops and turns to face them. "Why, all of you betrayed me. No, no," he raises a hand, "don't speak. You double-dipped. No man can serve two masters and certainly not men of your intelligence. So let me make this clear. Running deals with petty Mob bosses and arms dealers is betrayal. You are all fine, upstanding members of the Blackgate community. Surely you have enough sense to notice who is and is not working for me." He looks expectantly at them and they nod again. "Then _why_," he roars, kicking over the closest man and pressing his foot against his chest when the man hits the ground, "did you start running errands for Cobblepot?" None of the men look brave enough to speak and the one on the ground looks like he's going to be sick again. Dad kneels and puts his hand on the man's face, pressing it into the blood until the man starts to whimper. "I own you," Dad says quietly and the man nods. "I own all of you." He stands up and looks around at the men on their knees. "So we're going to make sure you remember that." At a movement of his head, Dad's thugs leave the room and Harley comes over to stand beside me, pulling me off the table. Dad points to Harley and she throws the large kitchen knife she's holding into the pool of blood the men are kneeling in. Dad turns and begins to walk out the door. "Only one of you comes out of here alive." Harley takes me by the arm and directs me out of the room, following Dad closely and behind me I can hear splashing as the men begin to scramble for the knife.


	15. Respite

**Respite**

Dad ended up shooting the man who emerged victorious from the room. Said something about life being a cruel joke before he fired. In that moment, I really felt for the bastard. He thought he'd done it. He thought he'd got away. But then Dad stepped in and he ruined it and I can really fucking identify with that situation.

After that, Dad sent me and Harley straight back out again. We're supposed to be staking out Cobblepot's headquarters. Suss out his movements, see if we can spot any other traitors, find a way in, all the usual stuff. All the stuff that Harley can do by herself. As soon as we got to the rooftop, Harley told me to leave. "Just go," she said. "He's out all night, right? Well, now you are too." I just stared at her and she winked. "Go have a good night," she whispered and pushed me away so I left. Hell, I started running. I had no idea where I should start looking but I was free and allowed to go find Lonnie and if running meant I could see him sooner than of course I was going to run.

I'm standing on the roof of the building opposite the First Bank of Gotham, staring out at the streets around here. Lonnie has to be somewhere. He said Bane put him to work and Lonnie is Anarky. They wanted the costume when they first came for us. Anarky has to be out here somewhere. I just have to find him. He'll be here and I can find him and then...

There's a flash of red on the streets below and I'm sure that's him. Only I have no idea how to get his attention. I briefly consider calling out, but there's no way to guarantee someone else isn't going to hear me and come looking. Fuck, the only way I'm going to safely get his attention is by going down there and by the time I get down there it might be too late. I turn and I start to run because, really, what other choice do I have?

By the time I get down to street level he's long gone, and I know that. I'm a realist. I'm not stupid enough to think he'd be hanging around on the off chance that I'm nearby. He has work to do and if he doesn't do it, he'll probably be punished. He probably doesn't have someone in his corner like I've got Harley in mine. It was stupid to think I could catch him. But, as I turn, I catch sight of fresh red paint on the ground and, as I approach, I can see the A symbol on the wall. It must've been painted quickly cause it's messy and running but it's Lonnie. It's a sign. The paint on the ground drips for a few yards so I follow it and, on the corner of a building across the street, I can see another A. It's a map or a clue or something. He remembered what I told him I did to find him. That's got to be it. He's leading me to him. But as I take a step out of the alley and onto the street, I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck stick up and there's that feeling you get when you know you're being watched. I'm not alone here. And, if it were Lonnie watching me, he'd come out by now. The paint's fresh and it takes time to draw the A. He'd be looking for me. Turning my eyes skyward, I can't see anyone on top of the buildings but it's dark and there are all those windows. Someone could be hiding out in any one of those rooms, watching me, waiting. I don't stop to think about it. I turn and I run back the way I came. Whoever it was, they'll come after me if it's me they wanted. That sounds so paranoid, but it's not stupid to be paranoid, is it? Not when I know Bane knows the truth about me, and not when I know there's a turf war going on between him and Dad. I could be very valuable. Or just collateral damage. I'm not sure what way he's thinking and I'm not about to find out. Not if I can help it.

I run for a few minutes, putting as much distance between me and the trail as possible and I would keep going but my breath's coming in shorter and shorter gasps and no matter how hard I push, how deep I dig, I just can't keep it up for much longer. The feeling of being watched has gone, but I'm uneasy. Every few metres I hear a new noise that makes me jump and look over my shoulder and, now I've noticed all the black windows in Gotham, I can't help but wonder how many sinister people may be lurking there, just waiting for me to make a wrong move so they can pick me off and bring me back to their master. That sounds so self-absorbed, doesn't it? I sound stupid, like I think I'm amazing or important or something. I'm not. I know that. I know I'm nothing but a pawn. But I don't want to die. Not now that I've found something worth living for.

A spray can falls a few yards in front of me and I skid to a halt, panting and holding my aching sides. I turn and look around me but I can't see anything out of the ordinary and, just as I turn my back on the building I'm standing next to so I can look out at the street, a pair of hands land on my shoulders and pull me backwards until I fall on my ass and I'm lying on the ground in the dark, blind and being silenced by a gloved hand. My stomach twists itself into knots as the leather presses against my scars and I would be sick if my stomach were full. Please don't be Dad. Anyone but Dad. But then a golden mask looms out of the darkness and a hand is pulling it back and I can see red hair and freckles and Lonnie looking like he's been put through hell. Suddenly his weight on my stomach doesn't seem quite so threatening and his glove over my mouth feels warmer than before and he smiles at me and I can feel myself relax. It'll be alright now.

"Stay quiet," he whispers as he removes his hand. I nod and he lingers for a moment, looking down at me fondly, but there's a crash out on the streets and he springs to his feet, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me up. "Come with me." Lonnie takes off running into the dark and I follow him close behind. It doesn't sound like anyone's chasing us but Lonnie's frightened and bruised and I'm not going to question his judgement.

My sides are starting to ache and my legs are burning and I want to stop. I need to stop. My head's feeling light and the world is starting to spin but Lonnie's still moving and I can't lose him. Not now. Gotham's too huge. I'd never find him again. But, just as I'm beginning to slow down, Lonnie turns and grabs my hand and pulls me in through a door I didn't notice, closing it behind us and plunging us into absolute darkness. I can feel him pressed up against me; the way his chest is rising and falling, his breath rushing past my ear, his hand in mine and the way it squeezes my fingers when the thundering of shoes rushes past the door. He doesn't say anything, even when the noise has passed, and I don't know what I could possibly say to make this situation any better.

"They're gone," he says eventually, his voice loud in my ear and I start a little at the sound. Lonnie sighs loudly and bows his head, resting his forehead against mine. "They found out about you." His voice is so soft I can barely be sure I heard it at all.

"What happened?"

"You saw the bruises."

I nod my head slightly, moving his head with mine. "I think they tried to lay a trap for me. There were Anarky signs. Fresh ones. And when I started to follow them, I felt like I was being watched."

Lonnie is silent for a while. "That wasn't me."

"I didn't think so. You're usually much neater than that."

"Flatterer."

"Thank you, I try."

"But you're right. It was a trap. Bane wants you."

"Dead?"

"I think so."

I shake my head. "I'm sick of being caught up in Dad's wars. I'm not his pawn. I don't want to be sacrificed for the sake of his hold on this stupid city."

"So leave."

"You know exactly how easy that is. Besides, I don't want to abandon Harley." I can feel Lonnie's judgement, even without being able to see the expression on his face. "She's just like me. She knows how I feel. And besides, she's let me come see you twice and she hasn't told Dad. She's on our side, Lonnie."

Lonnie reaches down and takes my free hand in his and squeezes both my hands tight. "We could just hide," he says quietly. "There isn't anything making us go back to them and Gotham is huge. We could be moving all the time, going from place to place and there are people out here that can hide us. There's underground resistance, Andrew. I've met them. They're the real anarchist revolution. As long as we pull our weight we'd be ok." I start to shake my head but Lonnie moves his down, pressing his nose against mine. "Don't say no," he pleads. "They would've killed me. The Joker tried to kill you. I found you naked and covered in your own blood. We don't have to live like this."

I let the silence hang in the air as I consider my answer. I already know what I want to say. It was the first thing that came into my head. The obvious response. "I don't think I want to leave yet."

"You can't be serious," Lonnie hisses and I shrug.

"I know how this sounds," I say slowly, but he cuts me off.

"You can't possibly want to live like this. Always running and hiding and having to sneak away at night just to see me. How can you want this?"

"I don't," I say quickly. "I just... Dad's starting to trust me. He's got me doing so much and he's involving me in his life and I know it sounds stupid to you but he might even love me if I hang around for long enough. And I want that. I want that so bad and I've wanted it for years and now I finally know how to get it." My voice starts to falter and I get the feeling that he thinks I'm just being stupid but I'm being so painfully honest right now. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I'm so sorry that it's like this but please don't make me choose. Don't make me completely reject the one thing I've been striving for all my life."

"Andrew, he's never going to love you."

"You don't know that! He loves Harley."

"No, he's abusing and using Harley. Just like he's using you. It's not love, Andrew. Love doesn't make you want to hurt people."

"I know," I whisper.

"So you know he can't do that."

I shrug. "Stranger things have happened."

"Not with emotionally manipulative, abusive, psychotic, murdering assholes."

"Lonnie... He's my Dad. He does love me, somewhere deep down. It's what dads do."

"No," he says quietly. "It's what they're supposed to do. He may be your father but he is not your Dad. He hasn't earned the right to be called that."

"So what do you want me to do? Just stay here with you? Hide from both of them and hope they take each other out?"

"Why not?"

"I'm not a coward."

"I never said you were."

"I can fight my own battles."

"Then pick the right enemy," Lonnie snaps. "You're fighting Bane but supporting the psychopath that's hurt you more than anyone else. Can't you see how crazy that is?"

"I never asked for your opinion." My voice is cold and although we're still pressed up against each other, I want to pull away to prove my point. "You don't get it and you never will." Lonnie starts to squeeze my hands and I have to fight to keep myself from ripping them from his grasp. "Please just trust me when I say that I know what I'm doing."

"I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"You won't," I insist, my voice getting a little desperate. "I know what I'm doing. We'll be alright if you'll just trust me."

"I do." He leans into me and presses his lips against mine, letting go of my hands and moving his to my hips. I copy the motion, sneaking my hands through the folds of his robe until I'm resting them on his hips as he kisses me hungrily. Pulling back slightly, we break apart and I can hear Lonnie panting. "Andrew," he whispers, "you will stay the night with me, won't you?"

"Yeah."

I can sort of see Lonnie smile in the darkness and he starts to pull me away from the door. The building we're in is old and smells damp, but it opens up into quite a large room once you get out of the narrow doorway. Lonnie's been here before, because he pulls me through the dark and up a set of stairs I didn't even notice with the ease of someone who knows exactly where they're going. The higher we climb the fewer boarded up windows there are and so the lighter it is, until we're a few stories up and the moonlight filtering through lets me see Lonnie leading me on. I don't know where he's headed and I don't mind. I trust him. I trust him with almost everything. He's smarter than me in almost every respect and I like being able to just sit back and go along for the ride. And I know that's probably not the best thing, but it's not like he's Dad. Lonnie won't hurt me.

Lonnie leads me through an open door and down a long corridor before he pushes open another door and stops, glancing at me over his shoulder. The room beyond is lit by the wide window and I can see the trappings of a missing life. There's a double bed in the corner of the room, band posters on the wall, and a wardrobe that's been flung open with all its contents spilling out onto the floor. There must be millions of rooms just like this throughout Gotham, with their former occupants either dead or cowering somewhere. "This was my room," Lonnie says, and my heart breaks for him. He lets go of my hand and slowly walks inside, looking around at everything. I don't ask how long it's been since he's been in here. By the way he's looking at things it must be months. Eventually he makes it to his bed and he sits, turning to look at me again. It looks strange, seeing him dressed as Anarky, his golden mask pushed up on top of his head and his hat at an angle, just sitting there in this broken image of suburbia. It's hard to picture him living in this room. It just doesn't seem like the Lonnie I know. He looks down at his hands as he starts to pull off his gloves; his brow furrowed and his mouth pursed and I don't really know what possesses me but I step into the room and, closing the door behind me, I cross quickly over towards him, stopping just in front of where he's sitting. Lonnie looks up at me and I reach out and take off his hat and mask, throwing them to the side and bringing my hands back to run my fingers through his hair. He smiles and drops his gloves on the ground and, putting his right hand over my left, leans into my touch and closes his eyes. We stay like this for a while, but then Lonnie tightens his grip on my hand and grabs my shirt and starts to lean back onto the bed, pulling me down on top of him until he's flat on his back and I'm straddling him, my right hand propping me up and my left tangled in his hair. Our faces are close and his eyes are still closed. I can see every freckle, every eyelash, and I move in to kiss him. I can feel his lips smile against mine and, when he opens his eyes, I can't help but smile back. He lets go of my shirt and pushes my arm out from underneath me, making me brake off our kiss with a frightened laugh as I fall onto him.

"What did you do that for?" I'm crouched over him with my ass in the air and he's got both my arms pinned to the bed. Laughing softly, I try to wiggle my arms out from beneath his but he's got me held tight and he's looking up at me with a shit eating grin. "I hate you," I hiss as I give up, bringing my ass down so that I'm pretty much lying on top of him. As I try to shift into a more comfortable position I can feel that Lonnie's hard and, I don't know, the fact makes me smile. Lonnie's eyes widen a little and he starts to blush as I rub my ass against him and I can feel myself starting to throb. I stop trying to hold myself up and just let my chest press against his. We're cheek to cheek and I can feel his breath in my ear getting faster as his grip on my arms starts to tighten and I like the way he's reacting to what I'm doing. Dipping my head, I take the lobe of his ear gently between my teeth and Lonnie moans softly, bucking his hips and I chuckle. As I let go, Lonnie relaxes his grip on my arms and I pull them in closer to our bodies, letting them support my weight so I can rise a little onto my elbows. Lonnie's hands move to my shoulders, pushing them up and, as I lift my head, I can see him grin as he takes my shoulder and pushes, flipping me onto my back and straddling me in an instant. I let his body weight pin me as he sits up, pressing his ass against my crotch and pulling off the red robe. The bottom of his shirt lifts as he stretches and I move my hands to the exposed skin, sliding my fingers into the waistband of his pants. Bringing his arms back down, Lonnie leans forwards and presses his hands against my shoulders.

"Do you want to...?" He looks me in the eye, smiling a little as he bites his lip.

"Yes. Do you?"

"Oh God yes." His hands run down my chest, stopping at the end of my shirt and pulling it up. "Sit up," he grins and I take my hands off him to raise myself onto my elbows, allowing him to pull my shirt up and grabbing it when he raises it to my neck, pulling it off completely. Taking the shirt from me, Lonnie pushes me back down onto the bed and I watch him take off his shirt, my eyes lingering over the fresh, puckered scars on his torso. Looking down, I guess he notices my gaze because he brings his arms down to trace his fingers over the scars on my chest. "It's alright," he says softly.

"I'll kill Bane for doing that to you."

Lonnie smiles. "It's alright," he repeats, laying his forearms on my chest and leaning on them, our faces only inches apart. "Scars are sexy." I want to say something, but he starts to move his ass back and forth against my crotch, just like I was doing to him, and I lose the will to speak as the pleasure intensifies. Lonnie's smile is all I can see and I grin back at him, moving my hands to grab his ass through his jeans and, for a fraction of a second, his mouth rounds into an 'o' of surprise before curling into a wicked smile as he starts to move his hips in circles. This time, my hips buck involuntarily and Lonnie presses his fingers against my chest and leans down to bite my neck. I let my head loll back and I smile as his teeth graze my throat and the throbbing gets unbearable, to the point where the only thing I can think to do is to raise my hips and thrust against him, holding his ass tight as I can feel him smile against my neck. Then he sits up. "Stay there," he says moving my hands off him and climbing off the bed. I raise myself onto my elbows and watch him walk away, panting slightly at the anti-climax.

"That was cruel," I mumble, and I can see him smile as he starts to rummage through a chest of drawers. But he doesn't say anything so I flop back onto the bed. After a minute or so, Lonnie's back, holding a box of condoms and a tube of lube. "You're prepared."

"Come on," he grins, putting them on the bed beside me and climbing back on top of me. "Find me a teenage boy that doesn't have his own stash." I smile and say nothing, enjoying the way it feels when he runs his fingers down my chest. "What do you prefer?"

I shrug. "I dunno. I don't think I mind."

"Great," he grins, bending down to kiss me swiftly on the mouth. "I'll bottom."

I'm not going to pretend I'm not nervous. I've never even been close to this kind of situation before, and even though I'm pretty sure Lonnie hasn't either, he seems to know exactly what it is he's doing. He starts by getting up and taking off his jeans, then swooping down to help me out of mine, so he's standing there in front of me with a full erection that I can see through his boxers and his hand on mine, our skin only separated by the satin of my boxers. His free hand snakes round to grip the back of my head and he leans in and kisses me, messy and hungry as he strokes my cock. I moan a little and I can feel him smile as his second hand plays with the hair on my neck. He breaks off the kiss as quickly as he began it and sinks to his knees. "Whoa, what are you doing?" I mutter, reaching forwards to grab his shoulder.

"Relax," Lonnie smiles, hooking his fingers into the waistband of my boxers. He raises his eyes to look at me and pauses. "Are you still ok with this?" I nod and his smile grows warm as he pulls down my boxers and I'm fully naked in front of him. Using his shoulders to spread my legs, Lonnie shuffles in closer and licks me and I gasp a little at the sensation, my hand gripping his shoulder a little tighter. I bite down on my lower lip as Lonnie wiggles his way out of his boxers and, one hand wrapped around himself, he takes me in his mouth. Leaning back, I move my hand into Lonnie's hair, feeling him bob as his tongue flicks the head and saliva runs down the length.

"Shit," I mutter, and Lonnie slowly draws himself off my cock and looks up at me with a grin. "You watch too much porn." He laughs and rests his arms on my knees, rising to kiss me hard on the lips.

"And you don't watch enough."

"You know I never..."

"Yeah. It's ok." He kisses me once more, longer this time, and every time I think he's about to break it off he comes back stronger than before. I don't know what to do with my hands so I reach down and grab him, running my hand up and down the length with a gentle movement of my wrist. His lips pressed against mine, I can feel Lonnie smile and he grabs me again, mirroring my movements.

Breaking off the kiss with a laugh, he pulls back and reaches for the lube. "We'd better get going if I'm going to last," he says with a smirk and I can feel my cheeks burn bright red. Squeezing the lube onto his fingers, he stares evenly at me as he pulls his hand round behind him, the only hint that he's entered himself being the small gasp of pleasure he gives. I continue to stroke his cock and he starts to rock back and forth as he finger fucks himself. His eyes are closed and his mouth slightly open and he's all but forgotten about me but I don't mind. Part of me thinks that maybe I shouldn't be as turned on by this as I am, but the face he's making is indecent and I want to make him make that face again. Lonnie starts to moan softly, his eyelids fluttering as his hand starts to shake a little. I let go of him and, with both hands, cup his face. He opens his eyes and, for a moment, I'm taken aback by just how blue they are.

"Are you...?" I let my voice trail off as nods his head solemnly. "Right. So where...?" Lonnie pulls himself to his feet and climbs onto the bed, stopping in the middle of the bed and sitting on his knees. I scramble for a condom and, pulling it on, reach for the lube. Lonnie's on all fours now, and looking at me over his shoulder with a small smile and I'm nervous as hell. I head over towards him, rubbing the lube over the condom. "Do I just...?" I've run out of words, kneeling here behind him, my hands on his hips and the tip of my cock brushing his ass.

"Just go for it," Lonnie says, his voice a little muffled. "Go slow, and I'll tell you if it's too much."

I nod, more for my own benefit than anything else really, and with my hand at the base of my cock, I slowly guide it into Lonnie. I can hear him gasp and I can see the sheets wrinkle but he doesn't tell me to stop so I keep going, moving slowly until I've begun to build up a rhythm, and then Lonnie's starting to move with me. He arches his back and I lean forwards, my chest pressed against his back as I thrust and he rocks and I reach around to grab his cock and he moans again, this time loudly, like a whore. I start to laugh, my face pressed against his back, and the way he's moving tells me he's laughing too, but we don't stop. Everything about this moment feels good. It feels right.

I don't know how long it lasted in the end but I'm not sure it matters. Everything just sort of blurred into a moment of pure ecstasy until we're both covered in sweat and lying facing each other, curled in each other's arms. In this moment I just sort of realise how much taller Lonnie is; I'm resting my head on his shoulder and my feet don't quite reach his. Sometimes I wish I was taller, but I'm kinda surprised the height difference didn't really matter. Hell, I'm kinda surprised this worked at all. I'm surprised I didn't freak out, I'm surprised no one burst in and killed us, I'm surprised we even managed to find the time to see each other. I push my head against Lonnie and he wraps his arms tighter around me. "I think I love you," I whisper, and he freezes.

"What did you say?"

I hesitate. "I said 'I think I love you'." I let the words hang in the air and I almost expect him to let go of me but he's still holding me close. I can feel his heartbeat. "I'm not sure I know what it is," I say slowly. "But I've never felt like this before." I bring my fingers up to trace an angry red scar running down his side. "I sound stupid," I whisper. "I'm sorry."

"No," Lonnie says, kissing the top of my head and making me smile. "It's alright. I just didn't..."

"Expect it?"

"Kinda."

I shrug. "I don't have a frame of reference for this, y'know."

"That's why I didn't expect it."

"Well I don't want to beat you to death with a crowbar, if that helps." Lonnie laughs and I relax a little. "I just... You make me feel really good. You make me want to keep living in this stupid, fucked up city. I feel safe when I'm with you and I never want to hurt you. I just wanted to let you know that."

Lonnie hugs me tighter and I laugh. "You're so gay," he says as he presses his forehead against the top of my head. As silence falls over the room, I can hear him whisper "I love you too," and I smile and press myself against him, listening to the pounding of his heart and feeling the rise and fall of his chest. I've never felt like this before. Safe and wanted and _loved_.


	16. Penguin Season

**Penguin Season**

I wake up wrapped in Lonnie's arms and although I don't really remember how I got here, I don't mind at all. I just lie here, listening to the sound of his breathing as the memories of last night come swimming back to me. Part of me assumed that maybe I'd feel different in the morning, but here I am still feeling this weird sensation that I guess you'd call love. Real love, anyhow. Not like what Dad gives me. This is the kind of love that makes everything better in the end.

Shifting a little, Lonnie opens his eyes and smiles down at me. "I'm going to have to go," I say quietly, and he nods.

"What time is it?"

"Early. Harley'll be waiting."

Lonnie rolls his eyes. "You don't have to go back."

"I know, I know." I lift his arms and crawl out of his embrace, shuffling over to the end of the bed and grabbing my clothes off the floor. "Give it another week or so, ok? If nothing's changed and I don't think it'll get any better, then I'll stay here."

"Fine," Lonnie says, his chin on my shoulder as I slip into my jeans. "Just be careful."

I stand, buttoning my jeans and turning to look at him. "I could say the same for you."

"Nah, I'm not going back." I freeze, slightly bent with my shirt in my hand as I stare at him. Lonnie shakes his head. "It's safe here. They won't find me."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"They don't know my name, they've never been anywhere close to here, and I think it's pretty obvious that this sector's been checked. No enemies of the people hiding in here."

"But... They were chasing you."

"No, they were chasing _you_. As far as they know, I was out patrolling just as I was supposed to."

I frown and pull the shirt on over my head. "I just don't think it's going to be that easy for you to disappear. You're an important pawn in this game."

"I'm really not, y'know. They just sort of kept me around cause Bane knows I'm an anarchist. In the beginning I guess he figured I'd help him. But that all kinda went to hell the minute they worked out who you were." He smiles at me and I fold my arms across my chest. "It's not your fault, of course. But you're the important pawn here. Whether you live or die matters. Bane wants you dead to bring the Joker out. Joker wants you dead for reasons unknown but probably leading back to the fact that he's a mass murdering psychopath, but I don't want to judge, of course." Lonnie sits down and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. "To all of them, I'm just Anarky. I'm just some kid in a costume who wants to change Gotham who just happens to know the Joker's kid. They keep me around to draw you out and they don't really need me alive and well to do that. Bane really does want you dead."

"So, essentially, I'm screwed."

"I did try to warn you."

Sighing, I run my hand through my hair. "So you're staying here?"

"As long as I can."

"And if they come for you?"

"I know this building. It'll be fine."

I nod. "So, hypothetically, were I to find some more free time..."

Lonnie smiles. "I'll be here. We'll give it a week and then you tell me what you're doing. Either way, I'm gonna help protect you. You're not allowed to die on me now."

"Same goes for you."

"Yeah, you said that."

"Right." I hesitate. I know I have to leave, but it seems so final. I'm honestly not sure if I'll ever make it back here. I could get killed at any moment. Dad might not give me another chance to get away. There are literally so many things that could go wrong at this point. So I bend down and kiss Lonnie hard, then turn on my heel and walk out the door. It's a cold thing to do and I feel like a dick but I can't stay here. Not yet. There are too many factors, too many things that could bring death here. Dad could find this place. I bet he could. The city belongs to him; I bet he could find anything in here. I can't let Dad find Lonnie.

* * *

><p>It doesn't take me long to get back to where I left Harley. She's not there, but the way I figure it she can't be too far away cause her rifle's lying here and she never goes far without it, so I just sit on the ledge, watching the door to this Cobblepot's place. I'm not here long before I see her jogging along the street. She swings up onto the fire escape stairs and climbs them quickly, pulling me down off the ledge as she gets to the roof. A few seconds later there's the thundering of feet and I would raise my head to look if there was any doubt in my mind as to whom those feet belong to. Bane's widening his search for me.<p>

We stay pressed against the rooftop for a few more silent minutes until both Harley and I are sure the danger's passed. Then she lets go of me and slowly sits up, pressing her back against the ledge. She looks at me with a faint smile and, even in the early morning light, I can see the bags under her eyes. "How was your night?" She asks and, as I smile, I can feel my cheeks start to burn. "That good, huh?" I nod. "Did you..."

"We spent the night together." She smiles at me with genuine warmth and I do start to get the feeling that maybe everything will be alright in the end. "I figured it out."

"What?"

"The feeling. It's love. It's got to be."

"Did you tell him?"

"Yeah."

Harley raises an eyebrow expectantly. "And?"

"Oh, he told me he loved me too."

With a soft squeal of delight, Harley throws open her arms and hugs me tight, breaking it off quickly to hold me at arm's length and look me in the eye. "I am so, so happy for you," she grins and I can't help but smile. She's right. This is a good thing, despite the circumstances.

Harley's eyes move off me and the light kinda goes out of them a little, so I turn and I see Dad standing on the ledge, looking down at us. I don't know what to think. I don't know how long he's been standing there or how much he's heard, but I guess it doesn't matter. Can't change it now. He's standing there, dressed in his battle armour; the long purple trench coat, the shoes with hidden blades, the purple leather gloves and fresh greasepaint. I can't say for certain, but I'm pretty sure this is the first time he's been outside in a couple of months. So this is real. This is a big deal. And God, I almost got caught. Harley almost got caught. Can I honestly say it would've been worth it? Almost better to not come back at all than to get caught.

Dad doesn't say anything to either of us. He beckons with a finger and we both stand up like the obedient servants we are. Turning, he heads back down the stairs and I let Harley go first because I don't actually want to be that close to him. And yeah, it's kinda throwing her into the firing line, but he's more lenient with her. He loves her. I'd get hurt more for doing the wrong thing. Best just to keep my distance for now. At least until I figure out how much he knows.

We follow him over to the metal door, standing behind him as he knocks; Harley at his right hand and me at his left. We're both armed, Harley more obviously, what with her rifle and all, but my knife's still in the pocket of my jeans so I do have something. The door stays closed but I can hear a muffled English accent yelling for us to go away. Dad knocks again, louder this time. "Cobblepot," he growls, and I jump a little at the sound, glad he's not talking to me. A few seconds pass before the door swings open and a short, fat man in a monocle and a dirty three piece suit looks up at us suspiciously.

"Whadda ya want?" The fat man snaps. He's leaning on a black umbrella like it's a walking stick and I have to resist the urge to shake my head in disbelief. How does Gotham attract freaks like this?

"Move, Penguin." By the tone of his voice, Dad's mad, and the fat man picks up on it immediately cause he just steps out of the way and Harley and I follow Dad inside.

The place is well lit and nicely decorated, with soft lamps and nice artwork on the walls. It looks a little like an upper-class restaurant and there's soft jazz playing in the background as we walk around tables and chairs stacked in piles. There are a handful of men lounging around the place, but none of them are armed. They all look like they're street brawlers and although I don't think I could actually win a fight against any of them, you just know they're not going to start shit when the Joker's right there and his girlfriend's got a gun.

Dad's strides are long, and the fat man has to jog to keep up with him. "Wasn't expecting you to drop by, Joker," he says, and Dad shrugs. "Got some business going down if you're interested in gettin' back in the game."

"We need to _talk_," Dad says slowly and Cobblepot nods, pointing towards a door on the far side of my room.

"How bout we talk this over in my office?" He glances over his shoulder at me and Harley. Well, he looks at me and leers at Harley, then looks back to Dad. "Your help can wait out here with my boys."

"I don't thin_k_ so."

Cobblepot chuckles nervously. "You don't think I'm going to let armed thugs just come strolling into my office, do you?" Dad stops walking, and Harley and I pull up quickly behind him. He rolls his head slowly and starts to laugh, low and loud as he looks at the fat man standing in front of him. Cobblepot looks like he doesn't know what to do with himself; he's fiddling with the handle of his umbrella and looking anxiously around the room but there's no one around that can help him. Harley's the most well-armed person in here and everyone knows it. Besides, the Joker is laughing. You don't get in the way of that.

"I _own_ this town," Dad growls, leaning forwards to grab Cobblepot by the vest.

"That ain't what I heard," he snaps. "Word on the street is that Bane's got you running scared. Holin' up in some abandoned factory and getting a girl and some kid to run your errands for you."

Dad pauses, then pushes Cobblepot backwards and straightens up. He raises his eyes to look at the office door, then back down to Cobblepot as he gestures slightly with his right hand. Harley brings her rifle down off her shoulder and aims it at the fat man. "Say the word, Mistah J," she says and Dad turns his head just enough for me to see him smile at her. Harley licks her lips and grins back. Cobblepot looks pissed.

"Fine," he snaps, turning his back on Dad. "Into my office, alla ya." Harley puts the rifle back on her shoulder as Dad rolls his head and begins to follow him over towards the impressive wooden door. I risk a glance at Harley and she shoots me a wink. It sounds stupid, but it kinda calms my nerves. I know there's nothing to be frightened of here. Cobblepot's got nothing. But still... I worry. It's what I do best.

Cobblepot's office is large and gaudy. There's a huge oak desk, a bearskin rug on the ground, art on all the walls, and a brunette in a tight blouse and pencil skirt sitting on his desk. Though, the second she gets a look at Dad she jumps off and excuses herself in a hurry. Smart girl. Cobblepot waddles straight over to his desk, slapping the girl on the ass as she leaves, and sort of collapses into his chair. It groans, and for a moment I'm convinced it'll break and he'll fall on his fat ass but it holds on and he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and produces a cigar, lighting it with a smug look on his face. Dad walks right in and takes the chair opposite Cobblepot, leaning back and putting his feet on the desk. Cobblepot looks like he's about to protest but obviously thinks better of it and relaxes back into his chair. Harley closes the door and she and I stand in front of it, ready for Dad if he needs us.

"So," Cobblepot says, blowing cigar smoke in Dad's direction. "Wot can I do for you?"

"Bane," Dad says, smacking his lips. "I want Bane bruised, broken, bleeding, in a word, I want him _dead_."

"Tall order."

Dad shakes his head, his brow furrowed. "He took the Bat from me. He's tried to take the city. It's time _someone_ showed him how we _run_ things in Gotham!" By the end he's practically roaring at Cobblepot who's giving Dad an open mouth smile.

"We can do that," he says. "Sure you've got a plan."

"I do."

"And you're here...?" Cobblepot lets his words trail off, his cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth as he moves his hand in circles to make his point. "For the lovely atmosphere?"

"The company," Dad says with a grin, and Cobblepot nods. Stretching out, Dad gestures over his shoulder to me. "Bane's looking for my boy." Cobblepot squints in my direction and looks at me curiously.

"There is a," he starts to chuckle. "Family resemblance." I scowl at him.

"You put the word out," Dad says, ignoring him completely. "You know where to find the Joker's kid."

"Do I?"

Dad leans forward and picks up a pen, scrawling something on the desk. Cobblepot looks pissed at that. "You do now," Dad says, leaning back in his chair. "We draw Bane out in his attempt to draw me out."

"And we get this city back to the way things were?" Cobblepot chuckles softly to himself, taking off his monocle and wiping it on his vest. "Bat and all?"

Dad shrugs slightly, pulling his feet down off the table. "There will be chaos," he says quietly. "Anarchy." I feel my stomach drop. Why would he say that? Cobblepot nods and Dad stands up, picking up the empty scotch glass sitting on the desk. He smashes it and, in the blink of an eye, he's got a shard of glass in his hand and he's over the desk, straddling Cobblepot with the glass right up in the fat man's face. To his credit, Cobblepot doesn't really react.

"Go on," he says. "Put me outta my fucking misery."

"Don't go through my men," Dad says quietly. "You deal _directly_ with me."

There's a moment of silence before Cobblepot glances over towards the door. "Fine."

Part of me thinks that Dad was probably expecting a bigger reaction, but he makes it work. If that makes sense. Cobblepot's not really scared of him, so Dad gets close, forcing him to look away, forcing him to show himself to be the submissive one. The glass was just for effect. Dad nods and straightens up, flinging the glass at the wall behind Cobblepot and heading over towards me and Harley. I hold the door open for me and he pauses to ruffle my hair and I try not to show my confusion. He stops after a few seconds and leaves, and I make the mistake of looking at Cobblepot before I follow him out.

"Daddy's little boy," he sneers. "All grown up with scars of his own." I reach down for my knife but Harley steps in between us and gives me a look so I let it go. I follow Dad out of the restaurant even though I'd like nothing more than to gut the disgusting little man.

We all walk down the street in silence. Dad doesn't need to talk to us. Harley hasn't been asked to say anything. And I have nothing to say. I knew I was going to be a bargaining chip. Bait. But I don't get why he needed me to be in there with him. The word's gone out. People know who Bane's looking for and they know why. But now Cobblepot knows exactly what I look like. He fucking knows that I do exist. I'm dead. I'm so dead. I'm already dead. Deader than dead. I'm a goner. All it's gonna take is for one freak to figure it out and hand me on over to Bane. And I know he'll kill me. There's no doubt in my mind. And what about Lonnie? How can I possibly protect him when Bane's got half the city running around trying to take my head cause he figures it's easier to get to me than Dad. And anyway, the only reason Dad would care about my death is cause he'd be pissed that someone took it away from him. Oh God. What have I got myself into?


	17. Chasing Ghosts

**Chasing Ghosts**

It's been a week since Dad met Cobblepot. A week since I spent the night with Lonnie. It's been a week since I was allowed out of the factory. Dad keeps me inside all the time now, getting me to make simple explosives to kill the time even though he doesn't really want or need them. I spend so much time with him now, just not talking or doing anything really. Just sitting on the ground, working on whatever he directs me to work on while he sits at his desk. I don't know what he's doing and I'm not really prepared to ask, but he's spending time with me and I'm not in any kind of physical pain. That's really all that matters. That's all I wanted, so I should be happy with that, right? I shouldn't hate him for making me stay here; it's for my own protection. But I do hate him. I miss getting to go out with Harley, and even though staying here means that I don't get the chance to do something to make him hurt me, I'd take the pain so I could be free for a few hours. I spend so much of my time wondering how Lonnie's doing. If he's safe, if he's got enough to eat, if he's wondering why I haven't come back. I wish I could just talk to him. Let him know I'm alright and I'll be back soon. But I can't think of a way to get a message through to him without tipping Dad off. So I sit here, at Dad's feet, making explosives for his war.

"Andrew." Dad finally breaks the hours of silence and I look up at him. My heart's pounding and I'm a little afraid of what he's going to say cause it's never good, but I can hope, right? An apology, a loving hug, they're not that out of the question, are they? Dad turns in his chair to face me and, resting his arms across his knees, he leans forwards to pass me a slip of paper. I take it out of his hand with trembling fingers and, at a look from him, I unfold the paper and read the address. "I need you to go there," he says, and I look back up at him. I want to ask why, but it's not my place. He'll tell me what to do, he always does. "We're baiting the Penguin's trap." Dad grins at the word 'penguin', probably knowing how much Cobblepot would hate the nickname if he was here to hear it.

I nod. "Are you sending me to him?" My voice shakes a little and I hate myself for it because I should be strong now. He shouldn't see that I'm afraid to meet Bane again.

Dad shakes his head with a slightly exasperated look on his face. "Harley's going with you. You're _bait_." I nod again and he waves me away with his hand so I leave the parts on the floor and I stand, turning to leave the room. As soon as my back's to him, I can hear Dad start to laugh and the sound cuts through me like glass. I think I'm going to die today.

Harley meets me at the door of the building, leaning against the wall as she plaits her hair. She looks up at me with a grin as I approach and I can't help but smile at her warm face. It does feel nice to get some kind of affection from someone, even if it's not from the one I want. Punching me affectionately on the shoulder, she pulls open the door and I step out into the cold air of the evening. I breathe it in deeply. It's so nice to be out in the fresh air, feeling the wind on my face again. I unclench my hand and look down at the scrap of paper, then back up to Harley. "Do you know where we're going?" I ask quietly.

"Near enough," she says. "It's just some abandoned apartment. But they should've laid a trap or something and we'll be there to pick them off." I feel sick to my stomach and I guess she can tell cause she smiles at me again. "It's alright. This is good. We're finally going to get somewhere with this."

"This isn't killing Bane," I say quietly, folding my arms across my chest. "This is me putting my neck on the chopping block."

"It's really more kind of..." Harley lets her voice trail off and sighs. "I guess it doesn't matter," she says quietly. "Come on. While it's still light."

We start walking in the general direction of the address, some place over in the newer part of Gotham, and we fall back into the comfortable silence that made working with Harley so easy. I'm sure I know what's happening here. After all, I know that Dad knows that Bane's operating out of the sewers. I mean, bums on the street know that and Dad's got a much larger information pool than them. So this isn't really about Bane at all. It's about terrifying me and killing enough of Bane's men to make him angry enough to come for Dad. That's got to be it. Unless Dad lied and he really is sick of me. But would he just hand me over to Bane? I belong to him. What could I have done to make him cast me out like this, when he fought so hard to get me? Harley walks on ahead of me and I want to ask her, I want her to reassure me, but it's not her problem and she probably doesn't know any more than I do.

I'm not sure how long we walk for. The address is on the other side of Gotham, and as we get nearer, I'm starting to get more nervous. We're getting closer to where Lonnie's hiding and if Bane thinks I'm hiding around here, then he's got to have his men searching through the buildings. How long can Lonnie possibly stay hidden when there's so much operating against him? Harley leads me on and I keep hoping she'll stop and tell me we're here but she just keeps walking, just a little bit further, not that far to go now, and I'm starting to recognise the buildings and I know Lonnie can't be far away. But we keep walking and the distance keeps shrinking until Harley stops in front of the building. I know it's the same one. Harley opens the door and I walk through the hallway we were standing in when we kissed. I follow her up the stairs and over to the right apartment. She keeps walking, heading further into the building as I linger at the door but I know it's too late. Lonnie's not here anymore. I drop the scrunched up piece of paper as I cross the threshold and I follow in Harley's footsteps, walking down the hallway until I get to Lonnie's room. She's standing in the middle of the room, talking quietly to Cobblepot who's smoking a cigar and filling the room with smoke and ash. Behind them, Lonnie's bed is unmade and the posters on the wall are starting to fall down. Harley looks up at me and waves me over and I can feel a churning in my stomach and I think I'm going to be sick. Where is Lonnie?

"Ya made it," Cobblepot sneers up at me, his face scrunched up around his monocle. "Been wondering where the guest of honour got to."

I nod vaguely and avert my eyes, looking over at the wardrobe. Maybe there are clothes missing? Maybe he got away before something happened? There's probably no way for me to tell by standing over here, but there could be a clue hidden in the room. A message that Lonnie wrote just for me. He could've gone. He knew people who would hide him. He could still be safe. After all, it doesn't look like the costume's still here. "What do you want?" I keep my voice calm and restrained as I look back at the short, fat man blowing smoke in my face.

He wrinkles his nose at me, then turns to leer at Harley. "And the lovely Miss Quinn," he says, practically oozing lust. I want to hit him. At the very least. This is all his fault. The stupid, fucking, lecherous penguin.

Harley rolls her eyes and turns to look at me. "You're gonna stay here," she says brightly. "Pengy here's been spreading the word that this is where you've been holing up, doing some top secret mission for Mistah J, right?"

"Of course."

She ignores him, focusing on me completely. "You'll just stay here til Bane sends his men to check it out. It's been a few days, he'd have heard by now, so it won't be long."

I nod, folding my arms across my chest. "And so I'm just going to sit in here and wait for the heavily armed mercenaries to burst through the door?"

"We've got men around the place," Cobblepot growls, and I turn to glare at him.

"Great. Have all the men around you fucking want. It's not gonna make a difference when they burst in here and shoot me on sight."

"They don't wanna do that," he scoffs. "You're more valuable alive. He made me an offer m'self." He shrugs and, rolling his fat tongue along his lips, glances at Harley again. "Y'not worth as much as the lovely Miss Quinn, mind you, but it was nothin' to sneeze at."

I pull out my knife and bend to look him in the eye. "Look at her like that one more time," I whisper, and he starts to chuckle. "I'm serious," I spit. "Maybe you're not afraid of me, but you will be afraid when I let the Joker know just what kind of hospitality you've been offering Harley."

"Running to Daddy?"

"Better hope I don't."

Cobblepot looks like he's going to say something, but Harley reaches over and pulls me back up. "Don't," she warns, and I'm not entirely sure who she's talking to. At a look from Harley, Cobblepot waddles out of the room and she turns to nod earnestly at me. "As far as we can tell, Bane doesn't want you dead. You're safe here. But, if anyone comes and tries to make you leave the building, Mistah J's got people around to make sure that doesn't happen."

"I'll be dead before that happens."

"Hey," Harley says, grabbing my arm. "I'm not gonna let them kill you."

I nod and look over my shoulder. We're all alone in here. I can talk. "This is Lonnie's home," I whisper, and Harley looks confused.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that this is where he lived before the world went to hell. This is where he took me the other night. This is where we..." I let my voice just kind of die as I shrug hopelessly. "He said he'd stay here. He said we was gonna keep away from Bane and stay somewhere I could find him again. I was supposed to come here. But if they told Bane and he got here first... I don't know where he could've gone." I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes and I feel physically sick with worry. Harley rubs my arm and looks concerned but I guess there's nothing she can really say or do to make me feel any better at this point. I shake my head. "Do I have to stay here? Without him?"

Harley nods sadly. "Yes. Your Dad'll know if you don't do it. Then he'll want to know why and then it's all gonna come out. The sneaking away, me _letting_ you, all of it. Then we'd both be fucked."

"But Harley, I can't stay here," I hiss and she slaps me. Raising my hand to my cheek, all I can do is stare at her, feeling a little stunned.

"Pull it together," she snaps. "You have a job to do. We are going to get this done and we are going to get this done right and you are going to stop freaking out about your boyfriend because you don't even know if he's really missing yet."

"But _Harley-_"

"Don't. Just don't. There is nothing you could've done and nothing you can do now so just stop it. What's the point? You're not making your life any easier."

"That is the point," I mutter, rubbing my cheek. My scar stings as I move my hand but I don't mind. It almost feels good. "I love him. There, I said it. I love him and I can't just abandon him cause I'm not sure he's in danger. That's not how this works. I won't do that."

Sighing, Harley rolls her eyes. "Fine. But can you just _please_ wait a few hours? Just wait for night to fall. Then we'll be done and I'll invent some excuse and you can go looking for him and it will be fine. But just wait. _Please_."

I stare at Harley for a few more seconds but I can tell she's not going to back down or change her mind so I slump a little and nod. "Alright." She smiles and I kind of hate her for doing that. "But once it gets dark and we're sure they're not coming tonight and you give me the all clear, I want a few hours to go looking for Lonnie. I don't care what you have to say and I don't care you who have to lie to. I'm going."

Harley nods. "It's a deal."

"He better not be lying bleeding in a gutter right now, that's all I'm saying."

"I very much doubt that's where he is," Harley says, turning to leave the room. "I'll be back when it's ok for you to go out, alright?" She closes the door behind her before I say anything.

It's not alright. I feel like a traitor standing here in his room, waiting around for a couple of killers when I should be out trying to find him. He could be dead or captured or dying or being chased and I'm just standing here doing nothing. Some boyfriend I turned out to be. I'm supposed to be keeping him safe and I don't even know where he is. Part of me thinks that maybe I should just ignore Harley and get up and leave. After all, no one here's really going to be able to stop me and get away with it. But then again, there is Dad. He would find out. Of course Harley would tell him. Of course she would. She'd have to tell him everything, even if she got screwed in the process, and if I'm not there then Dad would just punish her instead. Jesus, he might even kill her if she brings him that kind of news. And then I'd have the blood of another person on my fucking hands. But what about Lonnie? What if I have his blood on my hands already and I just don't know it? What if he's dead because I wouldn't stay with him? If I hadn't been so eager to go rejoin Dad then I never would've had to meet Cobblepot and I never would've been personally dragged into this stupid war, I never would've been cooped up in that god-awful factory for a week straight and I wouldn't be here right now, pacing the room and doing fuck all to find Lonnie. This could all be my fault because I was too fucking scared to just leave Dad. I stop moving and look down at my hands. I've killed so many people because of my actions. More than a dozen have died, at the very least. And is Lonnie one of them? Is he already dead? Have I already killed him? God, a person could go mad thinking these questions. There's no point dwelling on it, I guess. There's nothing for me here and nothing for me to find. I want to believe that there could be, but I can't keep lying to myself. Lonnie's gone to places unknown and I'm stuck here because I'm a gutless coward. I head over to the wardrobe and run my hand over a fake leather jacket hanging on the door. I guess I could do something to pass the time. I could clean and organise the place. There must be something in here that would teach me more about him; a journal or a yearbook or something from before all this. He's got to have something here.

* * *

><p>Night has well and truly fallen and yet Harley as still not come back. The room is clean. I made the bed, straightened the posters, put the clothes away and then, when I was still bored and desperate, I organise the wardrobe. I never found anything about Lonnie's past. He doesn't seem to keep mementos from school or anything and I never did find a journal. I did find something though. A cutting from an old newspaper. I'd seen the photo before. Dad beat me unconscious because of it. It's small, and grainy, and printed in black and white ink, and it shows Dad being led into Arkham Asylum by a team of police officers and there, on the roof of the building in the background, there's a figure crouching on the ledge. Anyone just glancing at the photo probably wouldn't even notice it, but the figure's me. You can't tell. I'm just a black blur. But I was the only one on the roof that day. I remember that day so clearly. It was all official. Dad was being set to Arkham and it was unlikely he was ever going to be released. I remember the press swarming like flies and I remember having to sneak from Dad's apartment over to the roof of the building overlooking the gates of Arkham. I remember crouching there for hours, worrying that maybe they wouldn't be bringing him that day after all. But then, when it was almost night, the police van drove up and the doors opened and they brought him out. The press went crazy and I sat up a little higher, straining to catch a glimpse of Dad, so worried that this might be the last time I ever saw him. I remember how it felt when I first spotted the photograph. I stole the newspaper and tore it off the front page, sticking it to my bedroom wall with a knife. It was a reminder of my Dad. The only photo we ever had together. And, when he escaped a few weeks later, he came into my room and saw it stuck there and he pulled out the knife and threw it to the ground, crumpling the photo right in front of me. I don't remember what happened next. There was pain that didn't last for long, and all of a sudden I was waking up and it was daylight and when I went back to school, no one had seen me for two days. And that was the photo that Lonnie had hidden in the bottom of one of his drawers. It could be a coincidence. Lots of strange shit happens. Who even knows how many freaky coincidences take place in a person's lifetime. He probably kept it for Dad. He did use to see him as an anarchist symbol, before he met me. It could've been the beginning of his political views. Or maybe he saw me hiding up in the top corner of the photo. Then again, he probably never noticed. You can't actually tell that's a person unless you know. And the photo was taken almost eight years ago. It probably means nothing. Part of me just wants to throw it out. But this is still the only photo I have of me and my Dad. I don't know if Lonnie would mind, but I have to keep it. So I folded it up and slipped it into the back pocket of my jeans. If I ever see him again, I can explain. He'll understand. He's good like that.<p>

There's movement in the hallway and I spin around, drawing my knife. I don't really expect Bane's men to come bursting through that door but it doesn't hurt to be prepared. The door handle shakes and I'm frozen in position, crouched slightly with my knife up, ready to lunge forwards and take them off-guard, but then Harley shoves open the door and she looks frightened and that scares me more than anything. "Run," she hisses, beckoning me closer. "He's coming!"

"Who's coming?"

"Bane."

Everything feels like it just comes to a stop. I can't have heard that right. There's no possible way that Bane could be here. He doesn't leave the sewers; that's what everyone says. Why would he come here on the off chance that I'm hiding out here? As I come forwards, Harley grabs my wrist and pulls me back down the hallway, heading up the stairs two at a time. I keep up with her as best I can, struggling to sheathe the knife as I run. I don't believe it, though. Bane's not coming. He can't be coming. It's not what he does. That's why he has an army.

Harley slams into the door leading to the roof and stumbles out onto the rooftop, dragging me along behind her. She pulls me over to the ledge and as I look down at the ground below I can see a small group moving calmly towards this building with a bald man at the head of the group. But I don't want to believe that's Bane. I can't believe that. It's not like him; it's not the kind of thing he'd do. I'm not that important.

"You're gonna have to jump," Harley says quietly and I shake my head.

"He can't be here," I mutter and I can hear her sigh.

"Cobblepot said the same thing. Could you not just fucking look at the fucker walking towards this building right now? He's at the head of a fucking army, for fuck's sake."

I shrug as I consider it. "But Bane doesn't..."

"Jump!" Harley's voice is terse and desperate and, to be frank, it frightens me.

"But where?"

"The ledge over there. The gap between the buildings is narrow. You can make it."

"But what about you? Where are you going?"

"I'm staying here."

I have to take a second to comprehend that. "Are you joking?"

"Bad choice of words," she says with a small smile.

"No, but... You can't be serious. Why would you stay when you think Bane's coming? You can get away too."

She shrugs and looks up at me. "What if he's got a message for him?"

"Let him leave a note or send a letter or a goddamn messenger." I can't believe I'm having this argument with Harley. "He's only after me cause he knows he can get to me. What do you think he'd do if he got his hands on the one person the Joker actually loved?"

Harley smiles a little. "You don't mean that."

"I do. Please come with me."

"I'll be fine."

"You're not sacrificing yourself."

"It's not a sacrifice. I'm looking for information."

"He will kill you," I say, stressing every syllable. "You are going to die if you stay here. Don't make me go back and tell Dad that I'm the reason you're dead."

"Relax," Harley hisses, but I can't.

"I'm not leaving you. I can't do that. I've got too much blood on my hands already. I won't have yours there as well."

"Andrew, I will be fine. Just go."

"Go where?"

Rolling her eyes, Harley stands up and pushes me towards the ledge on the other side of the building. "Go find your boyfriend."

"But that could take all night."

"Ok. Fine. Be back at the factory by dawn. We got separated when Bane came. He gave chase. You had to lay low for a few hours before you could shake them. I'll agree to that story. Just go now."

"But Harley-"

"Go. I'll meet you back there. I promise."

Sighing, I turn to the ledge. It's not a huge gap, but it's far enough. I take a running start and I leap, my fingers reaching for the brickwork as I hit the wall hard. My arms are over the top of the ledge as my feet scramble for grip but I can pull myself up. Panic makes me move faster and, as I manage to swing my leg over the ledge, I sit up and turn to look back at Harley. She waves me on and I can feel the knot of guilt in my stomach growing but I guess I don't really have a choice. No matter how much they suck, you've got to follow orders.


	18. Final Surrender

**Final Surrender**

My life is so surreal. How does this kind of thing even happen, and why does it keep on happening to me? There are monsters and trials and there's no hero to swoop in and save the day. Heroes don't exist. You have to be your own hero if you're going to survive, and even then it's not certain. I tried to step up. I tried to save people, tried to save myself. Turns out I can't do anything right.

I was out all night. Running, tagging buildings, investigating all the places we used to go. Lonnie wasn't anywhere and I looked everywhere. I didn't want to, but after six hours I just started to give up. What other choice did I have? He's gone and I'm alone and that's how it's always going to be. I don't know how to handle this. There's just so much happening, how can I even begin to process all this crap? I abandoned Lonnie and he disappeared. I had to go back and Harley made me leave her behind. What if Bane did get her? What if I killed her by not fighting her orders? Dad would hate me. I'd hate me. Oh God, I've fucked everything up.

I make it back to the factory and I knock on the door. One of Dad's men opens it for me and I push past him, stumbling into the darkness. I don't have anything anymore. Just Dad. Just this. This is going to be my life. I can see that now. It's just a matter of learning to accept it. And I'm trying, I really am. But I feel cheated and wronged. If it's possible to hate and pity yourself at the same time, I'm doing it now.

Almost all of the lights in the building are out. It's still a couple of hours until dawn, so I guess it makes sense. But it seems wrong to find the place so lifeless. Dad's been amassing an army. Where are they? It doesn't make sense that no one would be here, and I'm about to just sweep through Dad's office to my room when I can hear a faint screaming cry. I don't know what it is about the noise that does it, but all the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I freeze, turning my head in the direction of the sound. There's something very wrong here. I can feel it. The sound happens again, this time a little fainter, but I can tell it's coming out from the rooms that Dad's been occupying. His torture rooms. That being the case, I should just ignore it. I should go to my room and lie down and wait for Dad to get up so I can report back to him, and I'm almost about to take the first step towards my room when there's another cry, a little louder than the second but not as loud as the first, and it sounds so close to speech that I'm unnerved. I know what's going on. Of course I know. Dad's been torturing someone. He could be in there now, cutting little pieces off of them, or maybe he's just tied them up so he can finish them later. And it's none of my business. I work for Dad. I belong to him. If he doesn't tell me about something, I don't need to know about it. But, then again, I can't just leave someone screaming for help, can I? Surely I'm not so far gone that I've lost all traces of human decency. And, in that case, it's only natural that I should want to help, and helping would be the right thing to do, morally speaking. But that's Dad's victim. I can't touch it without permission and if he finds out that I've gone in there to help the poor bastard, and let's face it, he would find out, then my life wouldn't be worth shit. There are so many good reasons to just ignore it and go to bed. So why can't I just do that? Whoever it is cries out one more time, and it sounds so familiar and painful that I just lose control of my actions and I find myself striding down the hallway towards Dad's torture rooms.

Every door I pass has a small glass window set into it, and only about half of these rooms are lit. Part of me's expecting to see Dad looming out of the darkness in front of me, or to walk into him as he leaves a room, but I'm all alone down here. It's just me and the voice, and the voice is getting louder but weaker as I get closer. I've almost reached it when a shadow falls across the hallway and I dart into the closest open room, just in time to see Dad stroll past the window, heading down the hallway back the way I came. He doesn't pause or look back, even though I'm sure my breathing's more than loud enough to give me away. I crouch by the door for far longer than I think is necessary because of just how afraid I am of him catching me. There's no one in this room, so there's no real rush for me to leave, but the noise has stopped ever since Dad left and that worries me. Maybe Dad killed them. Standing slowly, I rise onto my toes and peer out through the glass. The hallway looks deserted, so I carefully open the door and stick my head through the gap. Still no one comes. Turning to look to the door that Dad walked through, I quietly close the door behind me and walk over towards it. The light's been turned off, but when I press my ear against the wood I can hear a faint panting noise, so I guess that whoever's in there must be still alive.

Rationally speaking, I should just leave. I don't need to know who Dad's torturing. I don't even want to know. But there's something inside of me that's forcing me onwards. I guess it's guilt. I feel so guilty about what I did to the people I claimed to care about that I'm putting my neck on the line to reach out to help a stranger. Breathing deeply, I turn the handle and push open the door, sliding inside the room and reaching for the light switch as I let the door snap shut behind me. My fingers brush the plastic and I push it and the room is flooded with light, leaving me blinking with my hand still on the switch. The person's breathing has got a lot faster and I guess I must've terrified them, entering like this. I raise my hand to my face and rub my eyes as my vision starts to come back and I'm staring at the person tied to the chair.

It's Lonnie sitting there. He's been stripped to his underwear, his arms and legs tied with thick rope to the arms and legs of the wooden chair he's sitting on, and he's got a large ball gag stuffed in his mouth. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut and every inch of him is bruised and cut. I can see his ribs sticking out and his breathing is shallow and rapid. I don't know what to do, so I just stand here, frozen in place. After a minute or two, Lonnie slowly opens his eyes and looks at me. A tear runs down his cheek and saliva hangs from his chin as he struggles to speak around the gag.

I find my voice as I run over to him. "My God," I mutter under my breath, over and over again as my trembling hands reach out and brush his cheek. Lonnie flinches a little at the touch and I can feel my panic rising. Darting around behind him, my fingers fiddle with the straps of the gag until it falls away and lands on Lonnie's leg with a wet splat. Lonnie starts to moan as soon as he's free of it, but I cover his mouth with my hand as I come round to face him again. "You can't," I whisper desperately. "I don't know where he's gone. I don't know when he'll be back." Lonnie nods as more tears start to roll down his face and I want to stop and hug him but I don't want to hurt him, and every time I touch him he flinches away as if my fingers are fire. Taking away my hand, I drop to my knees and pull out my knife and I start to saw through the rope around his calf. Up this close, I can see bruises on top of bruises and a mixture of fresh and healing gashes that remind me so vividly of what my legs looked like growing up. As the rope comes away, Lonnie's leg starts to twitch violently and I just don't know what to do anymore, so I reach up and hold his hand until his breathing calms a little and I can move on to the next lot of rope. We continue like this for a while until I've cut Lonnie out of every bond holding him to the chair and he just slumps back, his breathing rapid and shaky to the point where I'm worried he's about to start hyperventilating. It's at this point that I notice how eerily calm I am. I'm frightened as fuck and I'm mad as hell, but my hands are steady and my mind is calm and I just know what we've got to do next. We have to get out of here. Before Dad comes back. Then we have to get out of the building without anyone stopping us, and then we have to find somewhere safe to stay. Simple enough, right?

"Come on," I mutter, patting Lonnie's hand. "We need to get going." Lonnie shakes his head and I stand. "I'm serious. We can't stay here. It's too dangerous."

He moves his mouth a little and I lean in close to hear him breathing. "Please," he whispers faintly. "Kill me."

"No."

"Andrew."

"No, Lonnie. We'll get out of here. You'll be alright. We'll go somewhere far away. Somewhere we won't have to see freaks in suits and crazy men with masks. Somewhere we can be safe." Lonnie's eyes close and I grab his shoulder, shaking him awake. "Don't fall asleep. Please don't fall asleep. Stay with me, Lonnie." His eyes are glazed but he sits up a little and focuses on me. "Hey," I smile, gently running my hand up and down his cheek. "Hey, there you are. Now don't fall asleep on me, ok? I can't carry you out of here." He nods vaguely and I smile breathlessly. "Alright, we're going to get up now, ok? Can you do that?" He nods again and I hook my arm beneath his armpits and ease him up out of the chair. He's lost a bit of weight. I can already tell how much lighter he is in comparison to last week. "That's great," I smile as he leans on me and I brace my hand against his chest for support. "Are you alright to walk?" Lonnie doesn't respond so I start to shuffle forwards just a little bit, taking baby steps until I can see that he can keep up with me. "There we go." I pat his chest and he flinches a little and I feel so guilty but I don't know what else I can do right now. "Alright, let's go to the door, ok?" We start to shuffle slowly towards the door, and Lonnie's breathing turns ragged, as if he's struggling through a lot of pain. I want to do something but there's nothing in this room and I know there's nothing I can do so I make him push on. We will be alright when we get out of here. We just have to get there first.

When we finally get to the door, I reach for the light switch and turn to look at Lonnie. He closes his eyes without my having to say anything, so I flip the switch and we stand in the darkness, waiting for our eyes to adjust. Lonnie's breathing gets calmer and I rest my head against his shoulder. Why did this have to happen? How did this happen? I need to talk to Harley.

"Let's go," Lonnie whispers, snapping me out of my thoughts. I nod and turn the door handle and we start to shuffle out of the room and down the hallway. The darkness seems to stretch on forever and I'm so aware of every noise we make. Part of me is expecting Dad to just swoop in and stop me because that's what he does. He should've come in by now. I can't believe he hasn't, but we've made it to the main, well-lit hallway and there's no one around. There are two options I could take now. I could try to go out through the armed thugs, through Dad's study with the injured and frightened Lonnie, or I could just go back to my room. One glance at Lonnie points me in the direction of my room and he doesn't protest when I mutter where we're going. He's smart. He knows we don't stand a chance out there right now.

"Home sweet home," I mutter as I open the door to my room. Lonnie's leaning on me much more than he was before, and I'm so afraid he's about to collapse, but he manages to make it to my bed before his legs give out. He just sort of collapses onto the mattress, face-down into the pillow. His whole body's trembling and I want to help but I don't know how. I rush back to the door and close it, propping a chair against it to try and keep it closed. Maybe that's a bad idea, but it would give me time if someone tried to come in. I just hope it's not Dad. As I turn back to look at Lonnie, I can see that the shaking's got worse and I'm starting to panic. I head back over to sit on the edge of the bed, gingerly pressing my hands against his back as I realise that he's crying. "Lonnie," I whisper as I bend down to hug him, and he doesn't flinch away despite all the injuries I'm touching. He just keeps crying silently and I feel the guiltiest I've ever felt. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault, Lonnie. If I never left you alone, this never would've happened. I'm so, so sorry but I will make this better. I promise you; I'll make it ok."

Lonnie turns his head to the side to look up at me. "It hurts," he says thickly, and I can feel tears building up behind my eyes. "Everything hurts so much. I thought I was going to die in there." I rub his arm and try to soothe him but I know it's not going to do anything. I need Harley. I need her to tell me what I should do. But she's gone and I'm lost and alone and I destroy everything I touch. I press my face against his shoulder and I start to cry. I didn't mean to. It just sort of happened. I know Lonnie can feel my crying cause he's turned slightly and he's put his hand on the back of my head, but his shoulders are still heaving and I know he's no better. I've fucked everything up and now I have to sit here and watch him suffer. I can't even go for help because Dad will know about it.

I don't know how long we stay like this, but eventually Lonnie falls asleep. I sit up and watch him and his face looks almost peaceful, despite the injuries marking it. I watch the steady rise and fall of his chest and the way his eyes dart around beneath his eyelids. I've destroyed him. Getting close to me has broken him. My love is poison.

Outside there's the sound of boots stamping on concrete, and I don't want to jump to conclusions or pray for a miracle, but Harley wears boots. I leap to my feet and pull the sheet up, completely covering Lonnie so, from a distance, he kinda just looks like another part of the lumpy mattress. Kinda. If you're short-sighted and standing some way away. It'll have to do. I run to the door and, quickly moving the chair, fling it open and look out into the hallway. Harley's marching away from me and she's alone. My heart leaps up into my throat and, closing the door behind me, I run down to meet her, grabbing her from behind and turning her to face me. She laughs a little as she sees me, throwing her arms around me and hugging me tightly. I shrug her off quickly. "I need your help, Harley," I hiss, grabbing her wrist.

"What-?"

I don't give her time to respond before I'm pulling her back down the hallway towards my room. We stop at the door and I turn to face her. "You can't tell Dad," I whisper urgently. She nods and I shake her arm. "No, I mean it. You have to promise me that you won't tell him."

"Alright, I promise," she snaps, wrenching her arm from my grip. "What is it?"

"I found him." I'm not going to tell her where or who had him, that'll only complicate matters, but she grins and she hugs me.

"That's great! I'm so happy for you."

"No." I push open the door and she turns and looks and I can see her face fall when she lays eyes on my bed.

"He's not dead, is he?" Her voice has dropped to a very solemn whisper and I let out a shuddering breath.

"No. Not yet. But he's really hurt and he's in a lot of pain and he's finally fallen asleep and I don't know what to do."

Harley walks into the room and I follow her, closing the door behind us. "So you brought him back here?"

"I didn't know where else would be safe," I lie, thinking quickly. "And you said I had to be back by dawn and you're the only doctor I know who's still alive in Gotham and-"

"Alright, I get your point," she says, waving her hand as she approaches the bed. She reaches for the sheet and pulls it back, sighing a little as she uncovers Lonnie's bruised and bloody back. "Oh no," she breathes, running a finger along a long, knotted gash. "They really got him bad, didn't they?"

I nod. "You see why I had to bring him here."

She shakes her head as she sits down, her torso twisted to face Lonnie. "Your Dad's not gonna like this. He's not going to want him here."

"Yeah, I need to get him out."

"You need to hide him first. He's not going far like this."

"But where?" I hiss. "There's nowhere else."

Harley ignores me, running her hands along Lonnie's back. "He's healing fine," she says quietly. "He's gonna hurt, but normal painkillers should take the edge off." She looks at me over her shoulder. "You were a lot worse."

"Don't know why," I mutter. "Dad's usually..." I stop and Harley cocks her head. Why did I say that? "I mean," I start, but I don't know what I mean.

"Go on," Dad says from behind me. "What do you mean?"

I turn around to face him. "Dad," I breathe, and he raises an eyebrow. "I didn't mean-"

"I thought I'd trained you better," he says slowly, talking over the top of me. He takes a few steps into the room and I move to the side, blocking his access to Harley and Lonnie. His mouth curls into a horrible smile. "I thought I taught you _not _to take _my_ things," he growls, grabbing me by the shoulder and spitting in my face. I flinch, but I don't back down.

"Lonnie doesn't belong to you," I say quietly, barely moving my lips. Dad cocks his head as if he had trouble hearing me.

"Wha_t_ did you say?"

"I told you that Lonnie doesn't belong to you," I say again, a little louder. "He's mine. He's my boyfriend. If anything, he belongs to me. You damaged _my_ property." Dad's hand on my shoulder starts to dig into my skin and it hurts so much but I'm not backing down. "You know I'm right." Dad hits me across the face, pauses for a moment, then hits me again. I don't feel like I'm bleeding, but it stings and I know exactly what message he's trying to send right now. "The problem is," I whisper, "that you taught me too well. I manipulated you." I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't Dad's smile. It gets bigger and wider and he starts to laugh and I'm starting to get the feeling that I don't know the whole story.

"You idiot," Dad drawls, relaxing his grip on my shoulder. "You didn't do anything I didn't want you to do."

I shake my head desperately. "But you said I couldn't see him. I snuck away."

"Harley _let_ you sneak away." He lets go of me and I turn to look at Harley. She stands up, her arms behind her back as she smiles easily down at me. "She was playing you, Andrew," Dad says, his voice right in my ear. His hair tickles my neck and I shudder. "I knew where you were going. I had you followed. I knew you'd turn to her. She's a good actor, isn't she?" Harley shrugs and smiles a little wider. I feel sick.

"I got you good," Harley says easily, as if she was just talking about the weather or something. "All this bullshit about love and you bought right into it. So willing to believe that I was on your side."

"You hugged me," I whisper. "I told you everything."

"And I heard it all." Dad's straightened back up, his hand on my neck as he stands behind me. I have nothing. No friends, no power, no freedom. Everything I thought I had was a lie. How could she lie to me about this? After all he's done to her? What did I do to make her hate me this much? "Don't feel bad," he says, stroking my hair. "Everyone gets tricked by Harley. It's why I keep her around."

I nod slightly. "Why did you take Lonnie?"

"To teach you a lesson."

"But Harley let me go. Should I have said no?"

"What do you think?" Dad's voice comes out in a low rumble and I tremble.

"But I did everything you asked me to. I almost killed Alberto Falcone. I stayed out all night hunting men for you. I've killed..." My voice starts to crack and I grab my arm, trying to find some kind of comfort in this hostile room. "I've killed so many people just because you asked me to. Why can't I just have this one thing?"

Dad turns me round and I look up at him. He smiles down at me but his eyes show no warmth. "Because I said no."

"Please," I whisper. "Don't kill him." He gives me a disapproving look and I can feel the tears start to form. "Dad, please. I... I'll do whatever you want. Anything. Just let him stay here. Let him live with me." Dad sucks his teeth and shakes his head and before I'm fully aware of what I'm doing, I reach out and grab the front of his jacket. "I mean it! I let you do this!" I let go with one hand and gesture to my face. "You made me a monster. And I let you do it because I wanted you to love me." A tear seeps out of the corner of my eye and I don't make a move to stop it. "I've abandoned so much of who I thought I was because it was the way you wanted it. I love Lonnie. Please. Just let me have this one thing."

Dad looks over my head to Harley. "Lock the room," he says, and grabbing me by the collar of my shirt, pulls me out into the hallway. "You said you'd do anything," he says and I nod because I did and because I know that this next part is going to be horrible. But I'll do it. I will. For Lonnie. Oh God. I'm crying silently as he drags me back down the dark hallway, all the way down the end to the room where I found Lonnie in the first place. The light is on and the door is open and I can see a stranger sitting tied to the chair Lonnie was tied to. Dad shoves me forwards and I stumble for a few steps before finding my feet and turning back to look at Dad. Harley follows him inside and locks the door after him as Dad waves me on. "Go on," he says. "Kill him."

I turn to look at the man and he looks up at me with cold, dead eyes. "I don't have anything," I whisper, and it's true. I must've dropped my knife somewhere. I'm completely unarmed.

"So?"

My breath comes out in a low rattle and I nod. My hands are shaking and my eyes are burning and this stranger is looking up at me but I know I don't have a choice. I have to prove that I can do this. I have to prove that I am worthy. I hesitate for a moment, and Dad appears at my side.

"It's him or the boy," he says and I see red and I want to kill Dad for even suggesting that he'd hurt Lonnie again but I'm outmatched, so I approach the man tied to the chair. He shakes his head a little but deep down I reckon he knows it's too late. I try to mouth my apologies to him as my hands wrap around his neck, my thumbs against his windpipe, pushing as hard as I can. The man starts to gasp and shake but I hold him tight. I have to do this. We struggle and he tips over the chair but I follow him down until I'm sitting on his chest, my hands crushing his throat. I can see the exact moment his life left him and I feel sick to my stomach. I just killed someone with my own hands. He did nothing to me, and yet I killed him anyway. And the worst part is how satisfying I found it. I know I shouldn't feel like this but I do and it's a relief to see him stop moving.

Dad's hand grips my shoulder and I climb to my feet. "That was just the warm-up," he smiles and I nod numbly. Whatever it is, whoever it is, I don't have a choice. I know what I have to do. I know I can do it. And, if I falter, then I guess I can just remember Lonnie asking me to kill him, or the way Dad made me hate him with his petty name-calling and mind games. There are so many motivations for me to kill. It's the path I'm going down, even though it's not the path I want. I'm so lost.

We go into the second room and it's the same thing; a man strapped to a chair in the middle of the room. He also looks up at me as we enter, but instead he starts to fight against his bonds, shaking the chair violently. I can hear Harley lock the door with a click and Dad hands me a crowbar that was leaning against the wall. I remember this crowbar. I remember the way it felt when it connected with my arm, my side, my back, and I feel bad for the man in the chair. "Only use the crowbar," Dad says to me, and I advance on the man and he starts to struggle in earnest, grunting as he moves. I'm surprised he hasn't called out yet, but as I swing the crowbar like a baseball bat and it connects with his head, sending him flying backwards with a burst of blood, he screams and I stop wondering whether Dad had all their tongues cut out. The man lies on the floor and I can see him twitching, so I walk around the chair and start bring the crowbar down on him. It doesn't take me long to smash in his skull and I'm covered in blood. I look up at Harley and Dad and they start applauding.

They take me to a third room with the same set-up and Dad hands me a baseball bat. He gives me a small knife in the fourth and a machete in the fifth. The sixth room sees me kill a man with a length of piano wire, the seventh with a small pistol, and Dad has me use one of my home-made explosives to blow up the man in the eighth room. By then I'm covered in blood and panting and I hate to say it, but the blood lust's got to me. It's the way it feels to have power over a life, and hearing Dad's words of praise makes it all worthwhile. It's terrible, and deep down some moral part of me knows it, but actually enjoying this. I've stopped feeling sorry for these men and I've just started enjoying what Dad's come up with. That is, until we get to the last room. Harley opens the door for me and I walk inside and, as they always do, the bound man in the chair raises his head to look at me. But, before this, they'd all been strangers. I know this man. Joe's staring back at me. He's seeing me as I never wanted him to; covered in blood and standing with my father. He doesn't try to speak to me and I'm in shock. I turn to look at Dad and he shrugs. "This is _free choice_," he says with a malicious grin, gesturing to the table on the left side of the door. "Use _what_ever you like."

I go over to the table. I should kill him quickly. That'd be the humane thing to do. But, if I did that, then I bet Dad would be annoyed with me. So I've got to use something that makes a mess. Something to show him that I'm enjoying it, even if I'm not. There's a chainsaw here on the table. But I can't. How could I look myself in the eye knowing that I chopped the one adult that cares about me, and is still alive, into tiny little pieces? There are plenty of things here that I could bludgeon him to death with, but that takes time and he would suffer. But there's a shotgun propped up against the wall. At close range, his head would probably explode. And I haven't used one of them before, so that would probably please Dad. And it would be quick. I pick up the shotgun and I turn to face Joe. He's still watching me. His eyes are sad and I do my best to hide my own emotion, but I think he can see it. I'd rather be anywhere but here right now. He swallows, and I can see his Adam's apple bob in his throat. I raise the shotgun and aim it at his head.

"It's ok," I can hear Joe whisper. "I forgive you, Andrew. I love you."

Suddenly all the emotion gets caught up in my throat and I can feel my lip start to tremble and my hands are shaking but I've got to do this right. I have to kill Joe so Lonnie can live. That's the bargain I made. I said I could do it. I squeeze the trigger and the gun goes off so loudly and Joe slumps. His head is pretty much gone; exploded onto the far wall of the room. Dad jumps to his feet and comes over to me, grabbing my shoulder and pulling me into a side hug. "Knew you had it in ya," he roars and I feel like I'm going to be sick but I force myself to smile and nod. I don't know what else to do. It's Helena all over again. Dad takes me out of the room and my legs are shaking but I have to keep going. He stops me and turns, one hand on my shoulder as he bends down to look me on the eye, raising the other hand, his index finger pointing at my face. He sucks his teeth as he looks at me, the pats my cheek and straightens up, ruffling my hair as he turns and walks away. I stand there in disbelief, watching him just leave me standing here. Harley comes up to stand beside me.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out the way you wanted," she says quietly.

I shake my head. "You meant a lot of what you told me, didn't you?" When she doesn't say anything, I nod cause I know. "You followed me. You told him where Lonnie was."

"Yeah."

"I don't blame you," I whisper. "I think I would've done the same thing in your position." She pats my shoulder and I don't shrug her off. "Do you think he'll let me keep him here?"

"It depends," she says.

"On my behaviour."

"On who you kill."

"Whether or not I've got any morals are left."

"Basically." She leaves me and I'm standing alone in the hallway. I have nowhere to go and nothing to do, so I turn and walk back to my room. Beaten into submission, I don't even consider running away. There's no one to run to anyway.


	19. The Right Reason

**The Right Reason**

Somehow I manage to fall asleep curled up in the corner of the room. I suppose that's not really surprising; I'd been up for well over 24 hours. But I slept well. That's what's surprising about it. I didn't have nightmares or much trouble getting to sleep. I just kind of sat down, curled up, closed my eyes and I was out. I should've been more restless. It should've been difficult. A moral person would've had trouble sleeping... It _was_ a light sleep though. I'm not sure how long I was out for, but I did wake up when the door opened and Harley came in. She saw me in the corner and headed over, pressing a couple of pills into my hand and covering them with a bottle of water. "For him," she whispered. "Something to take the edge off the pain." And she stood up and left without another word. Part of me thinks that she does actually care about me. Obviously nowhere near as much as she cares for Dad, but I'm sure we bonded. I want to believe that she was actually happy for me. No one can be that good of an actor, not to another person's face. And she hugged me and smiled and I could see the warmth in her eyes. It was in her eyes. They changed whenever she started talking about love. She started to look happy, wistful, and I believe that expression. It makes sense, why she'd lie to Dad about lying to me, and I don't blame her for it. I just... I wish... I don't know what I wish anymore. I wish none of this had happened. I wish no one had upset the status quo. I wish everything could just go back to how it was. Before Bane blew up the city. Hell, I'd even wish for the days where Harley and I could go out picking off Bane's men and then I could go see Lonnie for a few hours every couple of days. It sounds so stupid to admit, but those couple of days were the highlight of my entire fucking life. Nothing could beat them. And that's... That's really fucking sad.

I can hear Lonnie start to groan and I get to my feet, crossing the room to sit awkwardly on the edge of the bed. I want to touch him, to just lay a gentle hand on his back to he knows I'm here, but I don't want to hurt him so I'm not going to risk it. He moves a little in his sleep, and I let my mind wander as I watch him. I think I may need therapy. If we ever get out of this, that is. I just need to talk to someone. I need someone to help me process all this, to help me sort through all the things I've done. I've killed so many people. People who meant nothing to me and people who meant everything to me. And yeah, I can claim that I killed to save my life, but is that enough? Is that ever a good enough excuse to take a life? Those people were defenceless and I was armed and I killed them without really thinking about it. And I enjoyed it. That's what's really fucked up about this. I like killing people. I like the way it looks when their life leaves their body. I'm even starting to enjoy the smell of blood, and the way it sounds when it drips to the floor. But there are limits. In my own mind, I have limits. There has to be a reason to kill. Otherwise it's just murder. And there are reasons not to kill. Love. Family. Friendship. Alliance. They're all good reasons to _not_ kill someone. So, if I have those limits in place, if I have an order to how I operate, does it really matter that I enjoy the kill? Do my limits make me more morally acceptable than someone like Dad? Or am I already someone like Dad? And is that my fault?

"Andrew?" Lonnie's voice is surprisingly loud, and he raises himself up onto his elbows as he looks for me.

"I'm here," I say quickly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, I'm here." Lonnie starts breathing a little slower and nods, relaxing back down onto the mattress as I rub his arm. "Are you alright?"

He shakes his head. "I had a dream," he mutters.

Suddenly I remember the pills in my hand. "I've got something for the pain." Lonnie slowly sits up and I move the water bottle into my free hand, offering him the pills with the other. After a brief moment of suspicion, he takes them from me and puts them in his mouth, taking the water bottle. The plastic seal cracks as he twists it open and raises it to his lips to drink. I watch his throat has he downs the entire bottle. Panting slightly, he hands it back to me and sighs. "Feel better?"

"Give it a minute."

I nod. "Um, I was kinda wondering a few things..." My voice kinda dies as I look sheepishly at Lonnie.

"Yeah, I kinda expected you'd want to know."

"I just want to know how long you were in there. You don't need to tell me what happened. Not if you don't want to."

Lonnie brings his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs. "The Joker turned up just after you left. I thought it was you walking through the apartment so I didn't really do anything. I was just sitting on the bed, going through some of my old things, and when I looked up he was standing in the doorway." He shudders and I reach out and put my hand on his knee.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

I take my hand away and make a strained kind of sound as I think about that. "Actually, I'm pretty sure it is."

"No," Lonnie says, shaking his head. "Andrew, this isn't your fault."

"He wouldn't have hurt you if it wasn't for me. And you were right. I couldn't trust Harley."

"She told him?"

"Yeah."

"That bitch."

"Yeah."

We sit together in silence for a while, and despite the circumstances, it kinda feels nice to just sit together again. I try not to watch Lonnie too closely, but he just stares off into the distance. His eyes have got a kind of haunted, hollow look about them, and I'm so worried about what Dad must've put him through. I've been there. It's awful. After a while, you just kinda wish for death.

"I've got something I need to tell you," I murmur, and Lonnie looks back to me. "We can't go."

"He found me." Lonnie's voice is thin and frightened and I feel so guilty.

"I'm sorry. He was going to take you back and I couldn't let him. I told him you were mine, I said he couldn't take you and then he took me and he..." I don't really know how to finish that sentence. No matter how you spin it, I'm still a murderer and we're still prisoners here. "He said I could keep you with me if I did whatever he asked me to do."

"Andrew, you didn't."

"I couldn't let him take you. So I did. I killed people for him. He took me through different rooms and there was always a stranger tied up just like you were and he told me how to kill them and I did it. And, Lonnie..." My voice brakes and I reach for him, just wanting the comfort of his touch. "I enjoyed it," I whisper, and he sides over and pulls me into a hug. I press my face against his neck and close my eyes as the deaths swim back across my memory and I wish I could say I cried for them, but I was crying for me. "I killed Joe." Lonnie raises his hand to hold the back of my head. "He was in the last room," I continue. "And Dad told me to kill him so I did. And I hated it. It wasn't like the others. I hate myself for doing it. And he forgave me. Right before I shot him in the face, Joe forgave me. He told me he loved me and I killed him." My words just die in my mouth as emotion overwhelms me and tears start coming harder. "I'm a monster."

"No."

"I'm my father."

"No." Lonnie lets go of me, holding me at arms length so he can look me in the eye. "Andrew, you're crying because a monster, a real monster, made you choose between two people you love. You're crying. That's more than enough to prove you're human." I nod, my mouth contorted as I try to keep my emotion inside but it's so hard.

"I don't want to be him," I whisper.

"You're not."

"But I'm so like him."

"No you're not," he insists, shaking me slightly. "You care about people. You saved me. You're distraught at having killed people. You're afraid of becoming a monster and that means you're never going to become one."

"But it's my fault," I hiss, reaching out and pressing my palm against his chest. "Look at what he did to you because of me. The pain you're in is my fault. I'm the one who did this to you!"

Lonnie lets go of me. "You didn't hold the knife. You didn't..." He stops and I can see him grit his teeth as fights some kind of painful emotion. He shakes his head and blinks back tears. "The Joker is a monster. They should've killed him years ago but they didn't. There's no cure for men like that. You are nothing like him. You are kind and gentle and..." His voice breaks and he shakes his head, letting go of me to press his hands to his eyes.

"What did he do to you?" The words come out in a whisper and Lonnie shakes his head furiously and I know the answer already. "He didn't," I breathe, turning to look at the door. "I'll kill him."

"Andrew, don't." I look down at Lonnie's hands grabbing my arm, moving my gaze up to his face. "Don't leave me alone," he whispers. "He might..."

"He's not coming back in here," I say, my voice even and strangely calm, all previous emotion lost. I'm too mad to feel anything else right now. "Hey, come here," I whisper, crawling onto the bed and sitting with my back against the wall. Lonnie slides along the wall to sit beside me, curling into a ball and resting his head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around him and move the sheet to cover the two of us. "We won't be here forever," I say quietly. "I'll get us out soon." I rub my thumb up and down his arm as he nods. "We'll be alright. We will. You'll see. We'll get out and we'll find somewhere safe and we'll wait for this whole thing to just blow over. It can't go on forever."

We sit together for a while and, while I don't think either of us really relaxes, we are together and, for the moment, we are safe. I can feel Lonnie start to relax his posture, like he's not expecting Dad to burst into the room at any moment anymore, and I'm pleased. But I still can't believe what Dad did to him. Actually, I can. And that's the worst part. Lonnie doesn't need to tell me in as many words, and I almost don't want him to. I know. I know what he's capable of and I didn't stop him in time. Dad's done it before. He did it to Emilia just before she killed herself. I'm surprised he never did it to me. But he's a rapist. He does it to control the people who have power over me. And that makes this my fault more than anything. I'm toxic. Lonnie would've been so much better off if he'd never met me.

"I meant it, you know," I say quietly, and Lonnie lifts his head a little to look at me. "What I said. For what it's worth, I really do think I love you."

Lonnie shakes his head. "That was just because we had sex. You didn't even notice me until I kissed you."

His words hurt me more than I ever expected words could. "That doesn't mean I don't know how I feel now." I grip his arm a little tighter and hold him a little closer. "I never really... Look, relationships never really mattered to me. I just assume people are straight until proven otherwise and you never gave away any kind of signs. I was used to being alone. I never thought I'd ever... I never thought I deserved... I thought I knew I'd never find anyone. But I loved you as a friend and then... I dunno. It feels more now. It's there but stronger. I really do, y'know, love you. I want to make it not hurt and I want to spend every day with you for the rest of my life. I've killed to try to keep you safe and I'd do it again in a second. I think about you all the time and when I can't see you, I worry if you're alright."

"Andrew..."

"I know. I'm stupid." Moving my head to the side, I rest it against his. I'm babbling like an idiot in a rom-com. "It's too sudden. It's all in the heat of the moment. And after everything that's happened, I'm not even going to ask if you feel the same. Why would you? I fucking ruined everything."

"Shut up."

"What?"

"Shut up," Lonnie repeats, then presses his mouth against my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I mutter, like it matters at all.

"I love you too."

"What?" I move my head away and I can see Lonnie smile. "No, don't smile at me, you prick. What did you just say?"

He bites my shoulder gently, then lifts his head. "I love you too, you idiot." My breath just sort of catches in my throat and all I can do is smile at him. "Why would you even doubt that?"

I shrug. "After everything..."

"That you rescued me from! You're like my own Batman," Lonnie smiles, and he moves his hand to my thigh and squeezes it. "I'm not going on about why I love you cause that's stupid and so high school, but I do and I told you that and I can't believe you think that your Dad can just take that away."

"He takes everything away in the end."

"Not me. Not the way I feel about you." He laughs a little and my heart soars. I never thought I'd ever hear him laugh again. "God, you're so stupid. How could you think that you never deserved anyone?" I shrug and I can hear him sigh. "I can't believe you never picked up on it though."

"On what?"

"My massive crush on you."

"Wait, what? You did _not_ have a massive crush on me."

"Yeah," Lonnie says, humming a little as he drums his fingers on my leg. "God, it was debilitating. I spent so much time thinking about you. I was skipping classes just to hang with you. Every time I looked at you I was thinking about what it'd be like to hug you, what it'd feel like to kiss you."

"Oh my God."

"I can't believe you didn't notice. I was so sure that I was being totally obvious."

"You're kinda forgetting the fact that I'm totally oblivious." Lonnie laughs a little and I smile. "So what made you, y'know, kiss me?"

"Well... I guess I figured that I needed to give you a reason to stay." I think back to that moment, and I can see what he's saying. "Was it worth it?" He asks quietly.

"Yeah."

He smiles a little and I rest my head against his. A silence falls over the room, then he whispers, "What are we going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"How are we getting out of here?"

I have no idea, but I don't want to tell him that. I should try to look like I know what I'm doing. But the truth is I don't think we're leaving. Dad wouldn't let it happen. And I don't know that I'm strong enough to disobey anymore. Not now that Lonnie's life and level of suffering depends on how I behave. "I'm not really sure."

"You have no idea."

"Yeah, pretty much."

Lonnie nods solemnly. "I don't want you to leave me here alone," he says after a minute or two. "I know how selfish that sounds and I know he's not gonna let you do whatever you want, but yeah. I just want you to know. I'm afraid."

"Yeah. Me too."

I feel guilty just sitting here. I should be doing something constructive, but I'm not like that. I'm the kind of person that things just happen to, not the kind who goes out and makes things happen. But why not? I could be the kind of person who goes out and does things. I could be proactive instead of waiting in here for the end to come.

"Come on," I mutter, taking Lonnie by the hand and pulling him off the bed. Dragging him over to the door, I stop and open it a fraction, peering out into the deserted hallway.

"What are we doing?" Lonnie hisses. "I thought you said you didn't have a plan."

I shrug. "It's not so much a plan as it is an idea, I guess."

"Well, what is it?"

I close the door and straighten up. "We're in a factory, right? Well, I've only ever been coming and going through the one door. And that door's all the way over on the other side of the factory floor. So, I've been wondering how the execs who used these offices got into and out of the building. Do you reckon they waltzed through the factory just to go to work?"

"There's another exit," Lonnie breathes, and I shrug.

"I think there's a reasonable enough chance that there could be. There are a lot of offices here. And we're some way away from the actual factory floor. I don't think we'd be that far away from another exit, if there is one. Even one of those alarmed fire doors. There's got to be something."

Lonnie hugs me and I smile. "You're a genius," he grins as he lets go of me. "I never would've thought of that."

"Yeah you would've. We both know you're smarter than me." I smile and nod and turn to face the door again. There's still no one outside when I push it open, so I guess this is now or never. Taking a deep breath, I push the door open and walk out into the hallway, heading to the left, away from the only exit I know. Lonnie follows close behind me, still wrapped in the sheet, and I'm trying desperately to think up an excuse in case we get caught.

The hallways are straight and narrow and they make it seem like the end is in sight, but every time it's just another corner leading on to parts unknown. Dad's rooms are down here somewhere. Harley's too. For all I know, either one of them could be roaming the corridors, just waiting for me to come up with this plan. But we don't run into them. We don't run into anyone. What we do find is a large metal door under a glowing green 'EXIT' sign and I start to get my hopes up. For the first time in months, I start to believe that this could turn out alright. I run towards the door, dragging Lonnie behind me, and I'm about to push it open when Lonnie grabs my wrist and points to a red and white sticker on the face of the door.

'This door is alarmed'.

"Well fuck," I mutter, taking a step backwards. "I was hoping for something a bit subtler. The alarm'll bring them straight to us."

Lonnie wraps the sheet around himself a little tighter and looks up and down the hallway. "Do you think there's another door around?"

"Could be. We might not find it though. It took us ages to find this one."

"And in the meantime..."

"They could've noticed."

"They could be looking."

I shrug. "We could risk it. The initial power surge when the bombs went off could've fried the alarm system."

"Doubt it," Lonnie says, shaking his head. "They're fire alarms. They don't usually go down for anything." My face falls and he shrugs. "But we could always run for it."

"Can you run like that? It was starting to snow outside when I came in this morning."

"Don't really have a choice, do I?"

"I guess not."

"So we run."

"Yeah. And hope like hell they don't catch us." Lonnie reaches out and takes my hand as I put the other on the door handle. "You ready?" I ask, and he nods at me. I push open the door and alarm bells start ringing and we start running, hand in hand, through the frosted streets of Gotham.


	20. Fugitives

**Fugitives**

It feels like we've been running forever, but Dad hasn't given chase. Or, if he has, he never came close to us. But I kinda doubt it. If he wanted us back that badly, he'd have us. The escape was too easy. Like he was expecting it. Even without the alarmed door, I would've expected to run into someone down there. Someone should've been around to stop us. It gives me the feeling that we've just been playing right into Dad's hands, and I hate that feeling. It makes me more nervous than anything, cause if I'm accidentally doing what he wants, then how does that reflect upon me?

As we slow down to a walk, I notice that Lonnie's hands and feet are starting to turn blue and he's shivering. I stop walking and pull him back to stand beside me. "Are you alright?" He nods, but doesn't say anything. I don't believe it for a second. "We have to get you somewhere warm," I mutter, looking around us, hoping for inspiration to just leap out of nowhere. It doesn't, but I'm not gonna give up right away. "Do you have anywhere safe left in the city?" Lonnie shrugs and I start running through the list of places we had. "Can't go to mine, or yours. Can't go to Dad's for obvious reasons. The first and second back-up apartments are way out. Can't go to Joe's cause where else did he get him?" Lonnie shivers in front of me and I can't stand it anymore. "Come on. We'll find somewhere that'll let us in."

We walk down the streets for what seems like forever, but every door we try is locked and no matter how loudly I beg, no one's opening their doors for a couple of guys covered in blood and screaming for help. I don't blame them. After a while, Lonnie grabs my arm. "Just give up," he says. "I can't feel my feet anymore. Let's just go back to my place so I can at least get clothes."

"But Bane was there and Dad knows where it is too."

"I don't care anymore. Let them come. I just want it to be over."

I want to argue but I won't. It's not important right now. Instead, I just hold his hand and I walk with him. "You don't mean that," I say quietly as we get nearer to the building.

"Mean what?"

"That you just want it to be over. You can't really mean that."

Lonnie shrugs. "I'm tired and I hurt and people want me dead. The anarchy I was promised never came. Yeah, I kinda do want it all to be over." He doesn't look at me when he speaks, and I'm not going to push the issue.

When we get to the building it seems to be empty, but I'm not really prepared to believe it. I wish I had something; a gun or a knife. I hate feeling so defenceless. But, as we climb the stairs, no one lurches forth out of the shadows and I can't hear the creak of floorboards above our heads, so maybe the place really is deserted. Lonnie leads me into his room and I linger by the door. The place is trashed, just like it was when we first came here. At least now Lonnie's not gonna know I was locked up in here all evening. He doesn't have to know that I cleaned the place looking for clues about him. I pat my pocket and I can still feel the folded newspaper clipping I took from here. Part of me feels guilty for having it, but if it doesn't come up I guess I don't have to admit to it.

Lonnie heads over to the wardrobe and starts sorting though his clothes. I turn my back on him and look out into the dark hallway, partly so he can change in peace, but mostly because I don't want anyone sneaking up on us. Call it paranoia, but I can't feel safe here anymore.

"So," Lonnie says loudly, and I close the door and turn to look at him. He's sitting cross-legged on his bed, wearing an old sweatshirt and sweatpants, with thick woollen socks pulled up to his knees. He looks adorable and warm and I just want to go over there and hug him. "What do we do now?"

"Dunno. Wait for something to happen?"

"We could be waiting the rest of our lives," he moans, throwing his head back. "Why are you standing over there?"

"Protection," I snap. "Why do you think I'm over here?"

"Come sit with me?"

"Lonnie..."

"I almost died, the least you can do is come and sit with me."

I can't help but grin at that. "Fine," I sigh, heading over to sit beside him. He puts his hand on my leg and his head on my shoulder and I do like the way this feels. "We should try to get out of Gotham. Y'know, before the war actually starts." I can feel Lonnie nod his head against my shoulder. "Do you have any idea what they're gonna do?"

"Nah, you?"

"Wouldn't have a clue. But Dad's not gonna go searching for Bane. He'll wait. Bane'll have to come to him."

Lonnie scoffs a little at that. "Bane's not exactly going to go running around Gotham to find the Joker."

I consider this for a moment. "I guess this is what happens when two immovable objects meet."

"What?"

"Just something that Dad said once."

We sit together and I relax into his touch. There's an explosion outside and, although I jump a little in shock, there is almost no part of me that wants to know what's going on. I am happy and content here. I don't care what Dad's doing, just so long as he leaves me alone. But Lonnie doesn't seem quite as content to just sit back and ignore the world, despite his earlier claims.

"What was that?" He says, sitting up and looking around. I shrug and flop back onto the bed.

"Bomb. Who cares?"

"But whose was it? It was close."

"Could've been either, I suppose."

"We should go check it out."

I roll over and stare up at him. "You've got to be fucking joking." Lonnie shakes his head, looking confused. "I thought you said you didn't care anymore? Why can't we just sit in here and ignore their goddamn war for once?"

"It's all very well and good to sit back and ignore the world burning," Lonnie says quietly. "But sooner or later the fire's gonna spread and then where will we be?"

"In a word? Safe. They'll blow each other up."

"And destroy the rest of the city while they're doing it." He shakes his head again and stands up. "No, we should go find out what's happening." Grabbing a pair of shoes, he sits down on the edge of his bed and starts to lace them up.

"I don't understand why this matters," I groan, covering my face with my arm. "You said you were done."

"I lied. Now get up."

Groaning loudly, I let Lonnie pull me up and I shuffle along behind him as he leads me up to the roof of the building. Night's falling and smoke's filling the air and, when I look over the edge, I can see rubble littering the streets. Lonnie's right. The bomb went off somewhere around here. Neither of us says anything as we look around, but then Lonnie grabs my arm and points off into the distance and I turn and I can see a red flag fluttering on the top of a building. No. That's not a red flag. That's Anarky.

"They took the costume," Lonnie says quietly, and I can hear the disappointment in his voice.

"Do you know who took it?"

"Could've been either of them, I guess."

"Well... Do you want to go see what's happening?" I don't know why I asked that. Part of me knows that I probably shouldn't have. It was against my better judgement. But Lonnie nods and I sigh. I guess the decision's been made for me.

We head back down the stairs and out onto the street. Despite the destruction, there's no one around. I would've expected to see fighting. Men. Guns or something. But there's no one around. I can hear people though. Yelling. Gunfire. The sound of smaller explosions going off. As we get closer to the building that has the costume tied to the top of it, I can start to catch glimpses of the fighting. Men in clown masks and thugs in bulletproof vests. Easy enough to tell the difference. We dart quickly between the gaps in the buildings, hoping not to get caught by a stray bullet but it's a distinct possibility. I'm well aware of the danger Lonnie's leading me into, even if he doesn't seem to be. He seems to be more focused on retrieving his costume, cause he's found a door and he's pushing against it. As the lock weakens, he turns to look at me.

"I've just gotta go get the costume," he says breathlessly. "I don't want either of them to have it."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

He shrugs. "You can if you like. Don't need to though."

I nod, and turn back to face the street. I can hear the door close behind me and I let myself relax for a moment. He'll be safe in there, at least. At the corner, a thug is shot and he falls backwards, dropping his gun. I freeze and briefly weigh up my options, then I run for it, picking the gun up and inspecting it. It seems alright, even if the clip is almost empty. Pulling the body towards me, I rummage through the guy's pockets and find another magazine and switch it for the one in the gun. I do feel safer now. I start to head back towards the door when a horrible thought hits me. I haven't seen Dad or Bane on the streets. Just a couple of goons. And that means... My eyes roll skywards as I look up the length of the building and I can feel the panic start up anew. "Shit," I hiss as I run for the door, grabbing the handle and pulling it open. The building inside is dark and smells musty and I run straight into the darkness, my gun up as I search for the stairs. They'll be in here. I know it. Whoever planted the costume's going to be lying in wait and I just sent Lonnie in by himself, completely unarmed. How could I do that? How did I not see this coming? I'm such a fucking idiot.

As I find the stairs, I start running, taking them two at a time as I climb. I don't really expect to see anyone on the lower floors, cause why would they bother? I know I'd lie in wait up the top, and I already know that I think like Dad, so there you have it I guess. The time seems to drag on forever though, even though I'm moving as fast as I can. By the time I finally reach the roof, I'm out of breath and panting, but I burst through the door anyway. I'm not going to waste a second. Not this time. I've failed him often enough, I'm not going to let it happen again.

Just as I expected, Dad's standing in the middle of the roof, surveying the madness surrounding him. Looking around quickly, I can see Lonnie slumped against the ledge on the far corner. He's not really moving and I can see blood but he's still breathing and that's something at least.

"I expected more," Dad says quietly, still not turning to face me.

"What do you mean, Dad?"

He pauses and turns, scowling at me a little. "The Bat would _never_ have kept me waiting this long."

I lower the gun a little. "What're you gonna do now?" Part of me expected a response, but he squints and looks beyond me and I turn to follow his gaze and I can see, rising up through the buildings, a Bat made of fire painted onto the main column of Pioneer's Bridge. "He's back," Dad says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. Suddenly, whatever choice I had seems to shrink. There's only one way out of this mess that leaves me and Lonnie still alive.

Stepping cautiously around him, I pass Dad and head over to where Lonnie's lying. I crouch down beside him and check his pulse and try to find the source of the bleeding. But I can't find one, so I guess that maybe... this isn't his blood? As my fingers brush his cheek, he stirs a little and opens his eyes, his hand moving to his head. "What happened?" He asks, his voice thick and heavy.

"You weren't alone."

"Ah," he breathes, looking beyond me. I nod and cup his cheek for a moment, before turning to face Dad again.

"I don't know what you want," I call out. He doesn't turn to face me, but his head twitches slightly and I know he's heard me. "No one's coming. It's just you and me. Like it always was." He spins round and he stares at me and I am afraid. I can feel the tightness in the pit of my stomach and my heart starts to race. I wish I could say that I still felt strong but I don't. I am afraid. I'm afraid he's going to kill me. I'm afraid he's going to hurt Lonnie again. I'm afraid this has all been for nothing. I'm afraid this is never going to end.

"Do you... _hate_ me?" Dad asks the question as if he's just curious. I shake my head because it's the truth.

"I know I should," I answer weakly. "But you know I don't. I know you don't need me to tell you that. I know you wouldn't care if I did. But I don't."

He nods to himself and looks away again. "Do you _remember,_" he says slowly, pausing to roll his tongue across his lips. "They took me to Arkham."

I nod. "I watched them take you." I pull out the newspaper clipping, holding it loosely in my hand. "They caught me in a photo."

"Yes." Dad's voice has gone soft and I realise that we both know how this is going to end. There's only one real ending to this situation. I hesitate to lift the gun and Dad looks back to me. "Go on," he growls. "You've done it before."

"It almost killed me."

"So do it again and end both of our suffering." I look down at the gun. "They're not blanks," he says. "No theatrics, no makeup. Just you and me and the barrel of that gun."

I nod. "Where's Harley?"

"Gone."

"Oh God..." Dad gives me a knowing look. That could've been me. "There's just one thing," I mutter and he raises his eyebrows. "Why?" He smiles at me and I know I'm not going to get an answer. I'm not even sure I wanted one, to be honest. I bring the gun up and stare down the barrel. He's muttering something under his breath as he stares at me, but I can't make it out. I flip off the safety and cock the hammer and I just stand here waiting for the nerve. Dad starts to rock back and forth slightly as he stares at me and my hands start to shake. Suddenly it all makes sense. There's this blinding moment of clarity and I understand what this was all about. It was never really about being his soldier, or bringing down Bane. They were short term goals. The long term was all about obedience and trust and hatred. Everything's been building to this. I was just too naive and self-absorbed to see it. Someone had to end it. He wanted the someone to be me.

"_Shoot me_," Dad growls and I do. The first bullet hits him in the chest and he stops moving, slowly looking down at the blood oozing through his shirt and smiling. I can feel the tears rolling down my cheeks but it feels like it's happening to someone else. This doesn't feel real. I take a step forward and I fire again. He doesn't stagger backwards or gasp like they do in the movies. Instead, he just sort of moves his hand to cover the wound and he starts to laugh. My breathing's getting faster as his laugh is getting louder and I fire again and again until the clip is empty and the laughter has turned into a wheezing kind of groan. His hand over his chest, Dad looks at me and he smiles as he falls to his knees. I run forward to help him down gently and he grabs my shoulder tightly. His breathing's getting faster and his body is starting to shudder and convulse. I lay him on the concrete and kneel over him. "Finish it," he hisses, and I start to panic. I don't have anything. But Dad does. I let go of his arms and move to rummage through the pockets of his coat. My fingers close around a handle. I look back at him and he grins. Pulling the blade from his pocket, I hold it between us, making sure that he can see what I'm about to do. He nods and smiles a little wider. I rise a little onto my knees and grab the front of his vest, raising the blade above my head. He's still smiling at me, his eyes locked on mine, his tongue still twitching along his lips as he breathes. I emptied an entire magazine into him. Why is he still alive? I hesitate for just a moment longer but I can't keep this up forever. I bring the knife down and plunge it into his neck. Dad makes a strangled kind of gurgling sound as blood bubbles up around the knife, but I don't stop. I won't stop. Pulling the blade to the right, I think I cut an artery or something cause blood's just pouring freely out of his neck. I can see that he's going, so I do the last thing that I can do for him. I pull the blade back to the left, and he's gone. The blood's still pouring out, but I saw it. I saw the light leave his eyes. His grip on my shoulder relaxes, then falls, and I'm left alone.

"Andrew."

The sound of my name brings be back a little, and I can feel the blood starting to seep into my jeans. I let go of Dad's vest and sit back on my knees. There is this burning desire to scream building up inside of me but I don't. I can't. I don't have the words anymore. This is how it was always going to end, I guess. We both knew it. I just... I didn't think it would hurt this much.

"Hey," Lonnie says quietly, putting a hand on my shoulder. I don't feel like talking so I nod and reach up to cover his hand with mine. But I keep staring at Dad's corpse. I can't take my eyes off it. His slashed neck looks just like his scars only further down. I can't believe how much blood there is. How did he keep going for so long? He should've died faster. It should've been quicker. It shouldn't have hurt as much. "Hey," Lonnie says again, pulling gently on my shoulder. "Andrew, come away." I shake my head and he pulls a little more insistently. "We'll stay here," he says, "but you should just leave him." I let go of him and shrug his hand off my shoulder.

"Can I just, please, have this moment?" I don't turn to look at him as I speak. "I just want a moment with my father, alright?"

Lonnie doesn't say anything, but his presence recedes and it's just me and him again. Back to the way things were. Back to how I liked it. I raise a hand to my face and I realise that I'm still crying. I sort of forgot. Everything just seems so distant, like I'm watching from somewhere else, like I'm not even here. I want to fix how this looks, I want to make his death look more important than it was, but I don't know if I can. And who would see it anyway? I smooth down the front of his vest, getting my hand wet with his blood. Who would see him here and who would care? Harley's gone and I... I did this. I made this mess. There's no one else for him, no one that would cry like I'm crying. I know who he was and I know what he's done. I have the scars to remind me. But he was still Dad. Right or wrong, I still loved him. I'll still cry for him. Even though I should've seen this coming. I should've. He was done. There was nothing left in Gotham for him. The Batman's gone, the Mob's been destroyed, the only thing left was me and Harley. She'll be back at the factory, but I won't go looking for her. That would just be too hard. Standing up, I look down at Dad's body. I wipe the blood off my hands and onto my jeans, then bring them back up to touch my scars. This is the end. This is it. I turn my back on him one last time and I walk towards Lonnie's outstretched hand.

He holds my hand tight but he makes no other move to comfort me. I appreciate that. We stand together on the edge of the building, looking out at Gotham below us. Across the city the Bat is still burning bright, and I guess it's a sign. I don't know why Dad still went through with it after he saw that. I guess it doesn't really matter. The Bat's still got to face Bane; there was no guarantee that Dad would still get a piece of him. But it's still too little, too late. Five months this city went through hell. And where was her saviour? What was he doing? Did he suffer like we suffered? Like I suffered? Did he watch those millions of people die? Did he see the bodies hanging from the bridges, the corpses swinging in front of the courthouse? Did he see what Gotham's become? I can't help but hate him. He could've ended it months ago if only he was here! No one would've had to die for this. No one would've had to suffer for Bane's vision.

"Do you want to go home?" Lonnie asks and I shrug.

"I kinda want to just stay here for a while." I look to him and he nods. "I'm sorry," I whisper and he smiles sadly.

"There's nothing to apologise for."

I nod. "Can I have a hug?"

"Yeah."

He pulls me close and I press my face against his shoulder as he squeezes me until my ribs hurt. I grab my wrists behind his back and hold on for dear life. I can't lose this too. Not now that everything else has gone. I don't even have the energy to cry anymore, so I just stand here feeling Lonnie's warmth, waiting for dawn to come.


	21. Judgement Day

**Judgement Day**

We stayed up on that roof all night. The night was long and silent. Tense, like the calm before the storm. Neither of us slept. We just sat on the ledge watching the city. It took hours, but the bat of fire eventually burnt away to nothing just as the sky began to lighten. It was nice to see the dawn. I've never actually bothered to watch the sun come up over the buildings before. It was beautiful.

But I've lost track of time. Dawn was probably hours ago. In the distance I can see an army marching towards the business district. They're wearing uniforms and they look organised. Lonnie notices them too.

"Who do you reckon they are?" He asks, pointing towards the sea of navy blue figures. "Do you think the government's finally decided that Bane's not going to use the bomb?"

"I doubt the government's doing anything," I mutter. "The look like cops."

"Oh," Lonnie hums in agreement. "But the cops were all trapped in the sewers."

"Maybe Batman got them out?"

"You think he's back?"

"Who else would have the balls to paint a giant fucking bat on the Pioneer's Bridge and set it on fire?"

Lonnie shrugs and sighs. I can hear the resignation in his voice. "Yeah, it's probably him. Pity he came too late."

"Well, I guess the bomb hasn't gone off yet. If he came after that, then yes he would be too late."

In the distance, the navy blue sea starts to move a lot faster.

Lonnie nods. "Do you wanna go see what's happening?"

"I dunno. This is my first actual day of freedom. I kinda don't want to get shot."

"I guess we can kinda see from here."

I nod. "Dad picked a good spot, at least."

"He did have a flair for the dramatic," Lonnie says, looking at me with a smile.

"Yeah," I smile and nod. "He did."

"Do you... Do you want to talk about it?"

"Y'know, I think I'm good." I sigh loudly, running my hands through my hair. "I know what he did to you. I do. I know what he's done to me; I know what he did to all the people I cared about and countless random strangers. I know what everyone wants to hear me say. I know all that. But he was still my dad, y'know?"

"I know."

"I loved him," I admit, and it feels so fucking good to finally be able to admit that to another human being. "I did. I do. And I guess I don't know if it was just cause I was supposed to or cause of something deeper, but it was there and it was real and all I really wanted was for him to love me back. Or just to show that he did. I never really knew, in the end."

"He probably did you know," Lonnie says quietly. "In his own horrible, sick way."

"I hope so."

"He got you to kill him, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did. But he also wanted Batman to kill him, so..."

"So nothing," Lonnie says loudly. "He went to a lot of effort to make sure you were ready at the end. Even I can see that, and I think he was a... actually the word does not exist that accurately describes how I feel about him. I'm glad he's dead. And I'm kinda glad that you were the one that did it."

I nod solemnly. "The world is better off. I just... My Dad's dead. I'm never going to be able to see him again. The flip side is that he's never going to be able to hurt me again, but yeah. The fact that I couldn't see him, even if I wanted to. That hurts." I suddenly get a flashback, remembering what it felt like when he'd touch my face, what he smelt like when he hugged me. I miss him more than ever.

"If it helps, my parents probably think I'm dead."

"Oh God," I mutter, snapping back to reality. "Your parents! Where are they?"

"On holiday. I think they were in the Bahamas when all this shit went down." Lonnie shrugs casually, swinging his feet as he grins at me and I have to laugh a little at the expression on his face.

"They must be terrified out of their minds."

"Nothing I could do about it from here."

"I guess not."

"And at least they were safe."

"True," I admit.

We lapse back into silence as the navy blue sea ebbs and flows, and now it's intermixed with little brown and grey dots. "Definitely fighting," Lonnie says and I nod in agreement. "Cops and Bane, you reckon?"

"I guess so. Batman would be in there somewhere too. Y'know, if he's really back."

Lonnie slides over next to me, his thigh pressing against mine. "I'm glad you're not dead," he says quietly and I smile.

"Thanks. I'm glad you're not dead too."

"Thanks. Also, I'm really glad that neither of us let the shit that was happening to us affect us in any major way."

"Well, we're young and we're guys and I do live opposite Arkham so I'm not really worried." Lonnie laughs loudly and I grin. "We are going to need therapy though."

"Fuck yes. Loads of it. I feel the need to cry and point out where the bad man touched me on the doll."

I smile and watch the city. It seems so strange that I can find it so relaxing but there you go, I guess. This shit is sick and twisted and wrong, but there you go. The city's just the same but it has always been the one thing that could calm me down no matter what. Gotham's my home. It'll be a shame to leave it. I hope it doesn't come to that.

Suddenly there's the roar of engines and, off in the distance, a giant black thing rises up from between the buildings. "It's Batman," Lonnie breathes, and he's right. It's the same thing we saw that first night Lonnie went out as Anarky, and God, that seems like years ago. It rises higher into the sky and I can see something attached to it. "Is that..." Lonnie's voice trails off as the thing rises higher into the sky and we can both see what's hanging beneath it. "It's the bomb," he breathes and I can feel my heart start to race. It was real after all. And, if Batman's got it with him, then I guess we don't have much time. The thing soars out over the Gotham River, gaining speed as it flies over the bridges and heads out towards the sea.

"What's he doing?"

Lonnie shakes his head. "Bane said that the bomb had a blast radius of... God, I don't even remember anymore. But, if Batman's flying it out to sea, then it's going to go off. Soon."

As soon as the words are out of Lonnie's mouth, there's an explosion that rips through the air and the black thing disappears into a brilliant, blinding ball of light. My mouth hangs open in disbelief. "Did we just see Batman die?" The words come out in a whisper, and I can scarcely comprehend their weight. The bomb went off. Batman's dead.

"Oh my God," Lonnie whispers, and I reach for his hand. I don't know how to make sense of what just happened.


	22. A New Dawn

**A New Dawn**

The movement may be slow, but somehow Gotham always does manage to pick itself up and struggle on after a crisis. We're good that way. You get enough freaks and weirdos running around, you learn to shake off this kinda stuff.

The Batman is dead. Commissioner Gordon announced it shortly after we got the power back on. But he wasn't the only one. Millions dead or missing throughout Gotham. Areas of the city totally destroyed. It's going to take us years to completely recover from this. The government's pledged to help, but we'll see how far that goes. I've never been believer in the power of the government. If they were that effective, no one would've let me live with Dad for as long as I did. If the government really cared about the people, someone would've stepped in.

And Dad... They found his body. Gordon announced it in his press release. They're not saying who killed him, so it's clear they have no idea. They won't even say how he died. Just that they found his corpse. Dad deserved better than that, but there's nothing I can do about it now. Gordon also mentioned Harley. They found her in the factory, just like I knew they would. But there were supposed to be a ton of other corpses in there as well. Dad's men, obviously. And that makes it official, I guess. It's over. The men are gone. Harley is gone. The king is dead, long live the king and all that shit. Because, at the end of the day, Dad did make it abundantly clear to me where I stood. I'm his heir. He marked my face to prove it. But I'm not going down that path. I won't. Partly because I don't want to, but mostly because I don't think I'd be able to look Lonnie in the eye again. Not after what Dad did to him. Cause yeah, mass murder and rape and mutilation and everything else aside, he was still Dad to me. I loved him despite it all, and what kid doesn't idolise their father at some point? There was a time I would've given anything to be like he was. Strong, and powerful, and feared, and respected. But I've made my choice and I'm going to stick to it. I promised myself I would.

Lonnie's been great throughout all this. I was there for him when they started letting civilians into the camps to look for their relatives. I remember the look on his face when he saw his Mom and it pretty much broke my heart. I'd forgotten he had a family that loved him. His parents came over to where we were standing and they hugged him so tight, and when they'd stopped, he turned to look at me and he introduced me to them. I was his friend. I'd saved him. We'd been living together. Part of me was expecting them to look at me different, like the officers did when they came to evacuate me and Lonnie. I was expecting them to be fixated on the scars. But Lonnie's mother hugged me. She actually hugged me. She held me tight and I could smell her perfume as she whispered her thanks in my ear. No one had ever thanked me like that before and I kinda didn't want that hug to end.

When they reopened the city, Lonnie didn't even have to ask them if I could move in. They just kind of expected it. Lonnie had come out to them before that. He'd told them I was his boyfriend. But he did lie and told them that we'd started dating long before Bane took over. It made sense though. The circumstances of our getting together were suspect at best. Neither of us told anyone what'd happened to us during those five months, and anyone who could identify us as pawns of the Joker or Bane, well they died in the city. Not that I think the authorities would believe them. We're just kids. No one knows what we did, and no one has to know either. I think a few of them suspect, but no one's asking questions. Not yet, anyway. Maybe they will one day, but by then I'll have come up with an answer.

So I've move in with Lonnie and his family. It's not what I expected. Not at all. His parents are fine with letting me live in his room, and they don't really stop me from leaving at all hours of the night. I guess they've got used to Lonnie doing it too. But we sit down and have family dinners together. Lonnie's Mom does my laundry for me, and his Dad's been really interested in hearing how we got on by ourselves for five months in the city from hell, and overall it's nice and it's sweet and it's a cosy little family life, just like I always thought I wanted.

But I don't want this.

Both mine and Dad's apartments are still the way we left them. The day Batman died, Lonnie and I went back to Dad's apartment to clear it out. I knew the police would come once the government regained control. I knew we'd have to leave the city before too long. I figured we'd get it done sooner rather than later. Lonnie helped me by taking bags across to my apartment while I sorted through Dad's stuff. I kept almost everything. Everything except the beds and the sofa. I don't know why I wanted to keep so much. I even held on to his greasepaint and hair dye and all of his knives and I've got like three duffel bags filled with his clothes. I kept it all. And I guess I know that he's not coming back, but if he did? Then I have what he'd need. I have everything he'd need to start again. He always told me there was nothing you couldn't do with a bit of hard work. He showed me that, made me learn it through atrocities and violence but I learnt it and I don't regret it. Because he was right.

Despite the kind offers of Lonnie's parents, I spend most of my time alone in my apartment. I like it that way. Lonnie comes and sees me a lot, but his parents are trying to get his life back on track, and between school and therapy he doesn't have a hell of a lot of free time. They booked him into twice weekly counselling sessions at Arkham. They're worried about him, and it's sweet. Sometimes I see them walk into the facility as a family (as luck would have it, it's one of the only official buildings in Gotham that wasn't destroyed). Lonnie tells me about his psychiatrist when he comes to visit. The guy sounds alright, but Lonnie reckons he's up to something. Reckons this Dr Strange knows more than he pretends to. So Lonnie's laying low right now. He's starting back in with school work and college applications, keeping his extra-curricular night-time activities on the back burner. But he made me keep the Anarky costume. It's folded up neatly in my wardrobe, next to the bags of Dad's costumes and the stuff I used to use for my drag act. I don't think we're gonna need any of that stuff anymore, but it's nice to have it there, ready and waiting. I mean, this is Gotham. A couple of freaks go down and there are plenty more waiting in the wings, ready and willing to rise from the ashes. It pays to be prepared.


End file.
